Onward Into Uncertainty
by Diligent
Summary: The Final Battle is over, and Voldemort is vanquished. Why then, is Harry sinking into depression? Why is Ginny going off the rails and why are Hermione and Ron at each others throats? A story of falling apart and coming together. Main Pairing: H/Hr
1. Chapter 1: Falling Down

**This is a story about what I feel would have happenned after the final battle. It is canon with everything in the books except for the epilogue of Deathly Hallows. The main pairing will be Hermione/Harry, but it won't necessarily be the focus of the story. **

**My aim is to create a moving narrative dealing with the stresses and trials I think would have been an inevitable part of their lives after Voldemort's defeat. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny are the main protagonists, and the story will be told variably from their point of view. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter. **

The floorboard creaked under the slight weight that fell on it, and Ginny Weasley swore at the unexpected sound. 17 years she'd been walking through that front door, and the floor had never raised a peep. Now, just when she most valued stealth, it had decided to announce her presence.

Honestly, it was enough any rebellious teenager sick.

She paused for a second or two, but when no sound came from the dark and silent house, she cautiously crept through the jumbled mess of the living room, a task made much more difficult by her current state or liberal inebriation.

Just as she reached the staircase, and was beginning to think she may be home free, lamps burst into life all around her and she fell, startled and swearing, on her back.

"GINNY WEASLEY!" came the all too familiar shriek of her mother. Ginny groaned, and began to get to her feet, but her coordination was hampered, and she fell back once again. Attempting a look of haughty dignity that was marred slightly by her current predicament, she looked into the blurry, though quite clearly furious face of Molly Weasley.

"Hi mum." She said in a small, slightly slurred voice.

"Don't you hi mum me! Just what do you call this hour to be getting in at, young lady? And stinking of firewhiskey no less!"

Figuring that she may as well be hung for a dragon as an egg, Ginny took her mother literally and looked at her watch.

"Err, about 3:30?"

Molly swelled with indignant fury at her daughter's disrespectful answer.

"That does it! Ginny Weasley, you tell where you've been tonight and don't even think about lying to me or so help you will be grounded for eternity."

Ginny sighed, forcing her buzzed brain to think fast.

"I was spending the evening with Harry. You know, just a comfort thing. We might have had a couple of drinks…"

Mrs Weasley gave a tight smile to her youngest child, before asking in a deadly voice.

"Is that so? Then how come, when I flooed Harry an hour ago to ask whether you were over there, he claimed to have absolutely no knowledge of your whereabouts and said that he hadn't seen you in days?"

Ginny stared at her mother in shock, mouth hanging open. She wasn't worried so much at being found out, more that Harry had totally failed to cover for her. She was indignant. Surely, being his girlfriend (or ex-girlfriend, she wasn't really sure which any more) meant that she could rely on him to cover for her every now and then? Well, apparently not. She struggled to come up with an excuse for a few seconds, but hung her head in defeat as she realized it was hopeless.

Her mother spoke again.

"Now, do we feel a little bit more like telling the truth, or do I have to break out the veritaserum my dear?"

Ginny just shook her head, and launched into the true story of where she had been; an off the hook party at Dean Thomas's. Her mother's scowl became more and more pronounced as Ginny explained the nature of the gathering. When Ginny had finished, her mother looked just about ready to explode, so when she spoke with some measure of restraint, Ginny was pleasantly surprised.

"I hardly think I need to tell you how disappointed I am Ginny. Go to your room and don't come out tomorrow, you're confined to the house for the next week."

Ginny was horrified. How could she survive an entire week with the meagre entertainment on offer within the Burrow, and said as much to her mother.

"Well perhaps you'll think a little harder about that before you go gallivanting off to wild parties in the future." She replied with a satisfied smirk.

Ginny just scowled.

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Harry Potter stared sightlessly at the holy and phoenix feather wand that lay on the table in front of him. He remembered how he had felt when the wand had miraculously been repaired by that most desirable of Hallows, the Elder wand. He had been so happy, so joyful at the restoration of his most trusted weapon.

Happy.

He couldn't quite believe he had ever felt that way, the emotion seemed a million miles away now. In the aftermath of that terrible battle, he had felt drained, emotionally and physically, but still he had told himself that happiness would come. He let out a bitter laugh at his own naivety. How could he have though happiness would come when the bodies and the names were etched so caustically on his retinas?

Tonks.

Lupin.

Fred.

Colin.

Lavender.

Snape.

And so, so many others who had died in his name. He had watched in his mind's eye as Fred, still laughing, fell under the rubble, as Lavender screamed when the beast tore into her. He didn't know how the others had met their end, but his mind always imagined the terror and the pain that must have enveloped them.

And now on top of everything else there was another orphan of war. Another poor child left with a godfather so ill-equipped to care for him it was almost laughable. What was the point exactly of having a godfather, he thought bitterly, if they were just as unable to care for as your dead parents?

He thought of his friends. Ginny hadn't spoken to him in days. Not that he blamed her. Why should she keep trying to bring him closer when all he did in response was push her away? She was bitter, he knew, and he was under no illusions as to why.

They had held each other close after the battle; her desperately wanting to regain what they had had, he simply searching blindly for a source of comfort. Neither had found what they were looking for, and they had stopped trying after a while. He wondered what she was doing now, and was reminded suddenly of the conversation he had had with Mrs Weasley last night.

_"Harry? Harry dear!"_

_Harry looked up from the splotch on the table that had held his attention for the last half hour, grateful for the distraction. He saw Mrs Weasley's head in the fireplace and moved to kneel in front of her._

_"Yes Mrs Weasley? Is everything… is everyone okay?"_

_Mrs Weasley smiled tightly._

_"In a manner of speaking dear. I was just wondering if you knew where Ginny was? She still isn't home and I thought perhaps she might be spending the night with you at Grimauld Place."_

_Harry frowned, a tiny tendril of worry worming in his stomach, despite his current apathy._

_"I'm afraid not Mrs Weasley. I haven't seen her in days. Do you think she's in trouble? Would you like me to go looking for her?" He asked, not entirely altruistically. It would be a blessing to have an excuse to go out, to _do _something. To act the hero. Mrs Weasley just shook her head however. _

_"Oh no dear, I wouldn't ask such a thing. Do let me know if you hear anything though, won't you?"_

_"Of course."_

_She smiled slightly._

_"Sweet of you."_

_"Goodbye."_

The mystery had been solved soon after, and Harry had received a hurried not from Molly telling him not to worry, that Ginny had simply been at a party. He had been surprised when he had felt, not relief, but anger at the notes words. _Ginny had been to a party_.

So what?

He couldn't explain, even to himself why he found the thought of celebration so irksome. He had received an invitation to the self-same party in fact, but had never even though twice about attending. He realized now how foolish it had been to assume his friends would feel the same way. He hadn't spoken to any of them, and now he felt a mixture of isolation and shame that did nothing to improve his mood.

He couldn't help but wonder if Ron and Hermione had gone to the party, without even trying to get him to come along with them. It was a miserable thought which, if true, would in his mind at least finally mark the complete separation of himself from their lives. They alone amongst his friends continued to make the effort to know him, but he couldn't help thinking that perhaps even they were finally tired of his attitude. Even though such musing brought dread the likes of which he rarely experienced, it was still not enough to shake him from his funk and make an active effort to do… well, anything.

He slumped back in his chair, attention focused once more on his wand. Strange, half formed thoughts swirled in his mind concerning it. They were both frightening and yet strangely tantalizing at the same time. They had been gnawing at him for weeks, months even, and with each passing day they became slightly more substantial, until it was all he could do to drag his mind away from them.

What exactly was stopping him, he wondered? He knew the spell, knew what it took to cast it. A few short words and he'd never have to worry about disappointing anyone ever again. It was such a simple escape…

_Too simple…_ a voice whispered in the back of his mind. It had been saying much the same thing for a long time. At first it had been strong, shouting down the melancholy with rationality, but as time progressed it had grown weaker. Now it was little more than a murmured warning in his ear, like that of an overly protective parent or a school friend too cowardly to embark on a new spree of mischief.

So easy to ignore.

He picked up the wand.

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They were arguing.

They were arguing _again._

When were they _not_ arguing..?

…

…

_…Why _were they arguing?

Ron Weasley stood in his bedroom at the Burrow, face to face with the witch he had loved for so long; screaming his lungs out at her as she did the same to him. One part of his mind worked hard to think up new and inventive ways to wound her with his words, while another tried, futile though it was, to understand _why _they were doing this to each other.

It had all seemed so simple, when the war had ended. He and Hermione were in love, he was sure of it. Ginny and Harry were the same. The darkness had ended, and they all had a chance to feel happy again.

He had so been looking forward to the future.

But everything had gone wrong. Ginny and Harry hadn't lasted more than a few days. At first he had thought it was a phase, and they would be back together when they had had time to think. But Ginny had slowly stopped going over to Grimauld place, and while Harry still visited the Burrow, it was always to see Ron, never Ginny.

Then things had gotten ugly. Ron recalled with grim vividness the shouting matches between Ginny and Molly, Ginny and Arthur, Ginny and Bill, Ginny and Charlie, even Ginny and himself. He remembered how she had started disappearing for hours, even days at a time, until the entire Burrow would be in a frenzy of worry. How she would always choose the height of hysteria to make her reappearance, to general remonstrations, which she seemed to seize upon almost gladly as if keen to initiate a row.

At first he had tried to blame Harry. Surely he had broken her heart, and that was why she was acting out so. Harry for his part had refused point blank to take any blame, and that stubborn refusal and Hermione's persistent remonstrations that Harry shouldn't be held accountable had finally weathered Ron's anger, and he had forgiven his friend. Harry had in turn forgiven him. Again.

Harry always forgave. It was part of who he was.

But who Harry had been and who Harry was now were no longer one and the same. Between his sister acting out, his grief at Fred's death and the ever more frequent rows he was having with his girlfriend, it had taken Ron a long time to notice that there was something wrong with his oldest friend.

At first it had blended into the overall mood of the community, Harry's new found melancholy. As people began to rebuild their lives and happiness replaced grief as the all-pervading emotion amongst their acquaintances however, Harry alone had remain stubbornly glum.

His attitude had changed. He missed a Weasley family dinner not long after the Final Battle, when he had always been so happy to be included before. From then on, it was anyone's guess whether he would attend them.

Then he had failed to answer the door when Ron and Hermione and come knocking one day, instead letting them find their own way to him, hunched over a bottle of fire whiskey at the kitchen table. They had straightened him out and he had eventually seen them on their way with a cherry wave, but Ron could see the darkness behind his eyes, and was worried.

Over the ensuing weeks it only got worse. Ron and Hermione would have to check and double check before they went to see him, because he was so rarely at home. They didn't know where he went, and when confronted about it, a grunt was as good an answer as they received.

Now, if Harry made himself known to them even just once in a week, it was considered a good one.

Nothing was working out as he had expected it to, and now, as the rest of his life spiraled out of control, Ron realized with terrible clarity that the last thread he had been clinging to so tightly, his relationship with Hermione, was about to snap.

The part of his mind that was presently preoccupied with arguing against said girl, suddenly took over from his musings, and Ron was jerked back to the bitter scene. Hermione's face was red and blotchy, and she was sobbing in between shouts. He didn't know what about, since he hadn't been focused on the argument for the last ten minutes, but by the looks of it it wasn't something he could fix with a few well-placed words. Just as he opened his mouth to say something; what, he wasn't sure, the thread snapped.

"No Ron!" Hermione screeched. "Don't even try! I can't do this anymore, it's over."

Ron shut his mouth so quickly he though he may have cracked a tooth. They stared at each other, each digesting the words she had said. Ron was vaguely surprised that he wasn't upset, but then, he had been expecting this for far too long for it to be a shock. Knowing what she said was true, he shrugged.

Hermione gave him a searching look. She wasn't crying anymore, and he was a little gratified that she at least didn't look happy at the breakdown of their relationship.

"I'm going to Harry's." she said.

He didn't know what made him say it.

"Yeah, me too."

"What?" She asked incredulously. The look on her face was one that would have given Ron much amusement in another, less horrible situation.

He shrugged again, looking intently at a bit of peeling wallpaper just to the side of her head.

"You know as well as I do that being with him keeps us from each other's throats better than anything else, and I was about to say the same thing anyway. I don't see the harm."

For a minute he was sure she was going argue. But to his surprise, she simply turned on her heel and swept from the room, perhaps unwilling to embark on another argument.

"I'll see you there then, I suppose." Came the call from her retreating form.

Grinning ruefully, Ron Weasley stepped out of his room, and followed his ex to the fireplace, where she was already flooing to number 12, Grimauld Place.

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**Well, there's chapter one, let me know what you thought! If you have any suggestions for the narrative, then by all means hit me up with a suggestion as I'm open to tweaking the story. **


	2. Chapter 2: The Rot Deepens

**Hello! Welcome to chapter 2, which I hope fulfills your expectations... I'd like to make clear that the "XXXXX" breaks that appear through out the chapter indicate the transition from one characters point of view to another's, not simply a change in scene. I thought I should clarify that because I was worried it might seem a bit awkward. Anyway, read on!**

Hermione came to a dizzy stop in the fireplace of the Black residence, taking stock of her surroundings as the glare of the emerald flames dissipated. Her gaze fell immediately to the slight figure sitting at the ornately carved table in the middle of the room. She took in his bowed posture, emanating such a broken sense of hopelessness, before her gaze fixed on his right hand.

It held a wand, pressed against the side of his head, and with a horrific jolt of certainty, she realized what he was about to do.

A scream of denial ripped from her throat, and Hermione lunged at the figure, which lifted its head, mouth opening slightly in shock at the sight of her, the half uttered spell dying on its lips.

For Hermione, the next split second seemed to take a lifetime. It felt as though she went through an eternity of suffering and terrible fear before she finally made contact with the boy. Her fist connected with the wand, and the jet of green light which emanated from it flew, not into the side of Harry Potter's head, but instead into the opposite wall, where it blistered the wood as though acid had been thrown at it.

She herself fell on top of Harry, who was still too shocked to do anything more than grunt as the air was driven from his lungs. Hermione made a desperate grab for the wand still in his hand, and liberated the thin piece of wood before he could make it do any more damage.

For a second, she simply stared at him. He looked back at her unflinchingly, his green orbs penetrating her gaze as they always did.

Then she started screaming. She screamed in horror and fury, denial and anguish. And then she wasn't screaming but sobbing, and pounding on his chest in a feeble display of recrimination.

A flash of emerald from the fireplace illuminated Harry's face, casting it a sickly green hue. Ron stepped from the fireplace, totally baffled by the scene in front of him.

"Hermione, what…?"

She leapt to her feet and rounded on him, all memory of the recent fight forgotten. She started yelling again, gesturing wildly in the direction of Harry, but the emotions within her meant she could barely get the words out.

"Fuck! Fucking bastard, son of a…" She collapsed onto to the floor next to Harry, unable to explain any more thoroughly. Ron simply gaped, completely thrown, not only by the ridiculously inadequate explanation, but also by the fact that he was quite sure such words had never before passed the lips of Hermione Granger.

She meanwhile, threw her arms around the neck of the boy beside her, who had not moved nor spoken a word throughout, and began muttering into his shoulder through great, heaving sobs. The words were a mixture of grief, remonstration and a desperate plea for forgiveness for not being there for him.

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As Hermione cried unrestrainedly into his shoulder, Harry finally gathered the strength to move. He raised his hand and patted her awkwardly on the back, uncomfortably aware of just how inadequate a gesture it was. His movement seemed to finally spark some action in her.

She jerked away from him fiercely, standing up to move next to Ron, staring at Harry with such a broken expression of disbelief, it made his heart ache.

It wasn't meant to happen like this. He had thought it out so carefully, planned his removal from their lives to the last detail. Or so he had thought. He had thought such a removal was nearly complete anyway, considering how little time they were spending with one another these days, but still he felt he owed them some sort of explanation.

He had poured himself into the note he had left them, which had become less of a goodbye and more of a novel length tribute to the two people he trusted above all others as he had written and written until the page was full of cramped words, and he had had to find another to continue.

He had told them not to blame themselves, or anyone else. He had told them he was simply embarking on the next great adventure.

He had told them all sorts of bullshit.

In amongst it though, he wrote of the truly important thing. How much they had meant to him. He knew what he was going to do would affect them deeply, and all he could hope for was to lessen the pain with his words.

What a waste of time it had been.

If it had happened in a book, he would have scoffed at the absurdity. Imagine Hermione arriving at that exact second, with just the perfect amount of time to thwart him. Another moment and she would have been too late.

What timing that girl had.

He sighed and ran his hand though his hair, an action of such nonchalant normalcy it seemed bizarrely out of place under the circumstances. He looked up at his friends and studied their faces. Hermione looked completely broken, a myriad of emotions present on her face. Ron simply looked confused, and Harry realized with a start that he hadn't been present for the little bout of drama. Just as he was trying to marshal his thoughts into a coherent explanation, Ron decided to speak.

"I'm sorry. But just what in the ruddy hell is going on? Hermione? Harry?"

Harry felt the words die in his throat, and knew that he couldn't possibly explain adequately. Instead, he got to his feet, walked over to the table and snatched up the note that lay there, before walking back to Ron and thrusting it into his hands. He turned abruptly once he had done so and sat once more at the table, waiting for whatever decided to eventuate next.

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Ron read the note with an ever increasing sense of disbelief. By the time he had finished, he knew exactly what he was reading, but still he looked to Harry for confirmation.

"Is this what I think it is?" He asked, but he already had the answer from the look Harry was giving him. His eyes flicked from the burnt and blistered wall, to Hermione's anguished face, to the ugly look on Harry's.

"So what?" He asked, his voice deadly quiet, and deceptively calm. "Hermione got here just in time did she? You were gonna off yourself and almost did in front of her. And you thought it would be okay if you left us a _note?_"

Harry wasn't looking at him, and Ron could feel the poorly suppressed anger and frustration emanating from the younger man. At the moment though, Ron didn't really care how angry Harry was, the horror and fear at what he was learning was hitting him in waves of sick disbelief.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" He asked. It was a pathetic way to phrase the mess of questions whirling inside his mind, but it was the only coherent sentence he could form.

Harry's eyes narrowed dangerously in Ron's direction, and he got to his feet deliberately to stand in front of them. Ron realized with a start just how tall he had become. He had always looked down at Harry, and was disconcerted to be looking at him on a more or less level angle for the first time.

Harry's gaze flickered between them, calculating, angry and… regretful?

"You don't know me well enough to judge me." He said, and with that he turned on his heel and walked from the room, sweeping around the corner and up the stairs. A brief moment later, the slam of a door indicated he had entered one of the bedrooms, most likely Sirius's.

Ron sagged, and stumbled over to the chair Harry had just vacated. He moaned and lowered his face to his hands. His mind, which had been so full of thoughts just a second ago, seemed strangely blank.

A wretched sob dragged his gaze back to the third occupant of the house. Hermione hadn't moved since she had left Harry's side, and stood shuddering in front of the hearth, tears burning tracks through the grime on her cheeks. He stood awkwardly, unsure of what to do as the memories of their furious argument of mere minutes ago came back to him. He needn't have been concerned however, as Hermione threw herself into his arms with nary a moment of hesitation.

After several minutes of quietly comforting each other, Ron decided to break the silence, and of course, he chose to do it in the most brutally Weasley fashion imaginable.

"See, I told you being around Harry keeps as civil." He said, only half joking.

Hermione gave a noise, halfway between an anguished moan and a chuckle, and punched him half-heartedly in the chest. After a few more minutes they broke apart, and sat dejectedly at the table, facing each other. Ron was the first to speak.

"So…" He began softly, not totally sure of how to ask the question on his mind. "What… what happened, exactly?"

Hermione gave a shuddering breath, and for a moment Ron though she was going to refuse to answer, but then she launched into an explanation of all that had happened between her arrival and Ron's. Considering it had only been a matter of seconds between the two events, there was a surprising amount to tell. By the time she had finished, Hermione was in tears again.

Ron just sat in his chair, pondering fate's cruel humor, and wondering balefully whether their lives were destined to be little more than a foil for the machinations of the universe. Finally, he groaned, rubbed the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb, and spoke.

"What are we going to do?" As he posed the question, he was uncomfortably aware of the last sentence Harry had spoken to him.

_You don't know me well enough to judge me._

He tried to decipher the unspoken meaning behind the words. Of all the people in Harry's life, there were no two in the world who knew him better than those sitting right there in the kitchen of Grimauld Place. Ron thought he knew what Harry had meant by his words, though.

It hadn't been a criticism, he decided. It had been more a statement of fact. That no matter what they went through, no matter how well they knew each other, no matter the connection they shared, Ron could still not possibly fathom what Harry was feeling.

Ron wondered whether he agreed with such a sentiment.

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"What are we going to do?"

Hermione mulled over the question. Truthfully, she had no idea how to move forward after what she had just witnessed. Part of her wanted to rush up to Harry and hold him close until they both grew old. Another part wanted to rage and scream and throw things at him, to curse him for the moron that he was. She was furious with him, there was denying it. She had never believed, even as he distanced himself from them further and further, even though he slumped deeper and deeper into the mire of depression that he would actually try to take his own life. She had thought, naively it seemed now, that she, Ron and her that was, meant enough to him to keep him soldiering on long enough for them to find a way to cure him. She sighed and leant back in her chair.

"We'll have to talk to him, I suppose. Try and understand how he feels, try to get him to understand how we feel."

She looked up at her friend, her expression steely with resolve.

"And then we'll fix him."

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**Okay, chapter 2 done! Sorry it's a bit short, but I should have the next chapter up by tomorrow so hopefully that doesn't put your nose out of joint to badly! Have a read and give a review if you like what you see, or even if you don't! Thanks!**

**-TR**


	3. Chapter 3: Coming to Terms

**Hello there. Here is chapter 3, as promised. Not much action in this chapter, but some important character development I think. Anyway, read on!**

Harry was lying on Sirius's old four poster bed. In the aftermath of the battle, when everything had seemed to be finally coming together, and Harry had still felt that happiness would eventually come his way, he and his friends had renovated Grimauld Place. Nothing too drastic, but the dark and dingy rooms were now painted lighter colors, and it was possible to breathe without inhaling the awful, musty smell that had been the building's trademark for as long as they had known it. They had done this to the entire house, except for Sirius's room.

No matter how many times Hermione told him that it was what Sirius would want, and that it was foolish to wallow in painful memories, he hadn't been able to lay so much as a paintbrush to anything in the room. And then, to everyone's surprise and a few people's horror, he had taken it for his own quarters. He couldn't explain why he slept better in the dusty old four poster than he did in the brand new bed Hermione had sourced for what had been going to be his room, but he just did, and no matter what people thought of him it wasn't about to change.

So when he had left the kitchen, and had been at a loss for what to do with himself, he had turned, as he always did in times of turmoil, to his godfather. Or at least, to the last thing on this earth that remained of him.

His mind churned with the events that had just occurred. For a few glorious seconds he had been sure he was about to escape the torment in which he lived every day.

Instead, things were worse than ever. His friends now knew of his mood and would no doubt refuse to let him out of their sight from here on out, and he was going to inevitably have to have many long, uncomfortable conversations with them concerning his attempt on his own life.

Worse than that even, was the crushing guilt he felt.

Guilt was one emotion he was unprepared for, as he had been sure that his leaving would be better for all concerned in the long run than if he stayed. The terrible expression he had been forced to look at on Hermione's face however, had rocked his belief, and now he felt ridiculously guilty for the ordeal he had put her through, no matter how unintentional it may have been.

He sighed, listening for any indication that Ron or Hermione may be walking up the stairs to check on him. He was a little surprised when he heard nothing, but figured rightly that they were no doubt having a brainstorming session about what to do, secure in the knowledge that Hermione had his wand and he could therefore do no harm to himself.

But they had forgotten one thing. Harry Potter liked to keep secrets.

He crossed the room to a small dresser that stood in the corner and opened on of its many draws. The wards he had placed around it recognized his magical signature and allowed him to remove the object he placed there so many months ago.

For whatever he may have told others, Harry had not left the elder wand in Dumbledore's tomb. He had purposefully announced his intention to do so in front of Ron and Hermione, thereby misleading the only two people who could possibly be aware of its whereabouts. He hadn't enjoyed withholding the truth from his friends, but as Dumbledore would have said, it was for the greater good.

Instead of the tomb, he had brought the wand back to Grimauld Place and surrounded with the most powerful defensive magic he could perform. There it had stayed, never looked at, touched or used, until now.

He brought it forth from its resting place, handling it almost reverently. He looked at the most powerful wand in existence and for the first time, contemplated using it. Not for power, not for glory, not for personal advancement or reputation. Simply to finish what he had started.

He could use it in the same manner he had been about to use his holly wand in the kitchen. He needn't worry about it falling into the wrong hands, as its power would break upon his death. Killing two birds with one stone.

Literally.

Just as he began to convince himself to carry out his plan, Hermione's grief stricken face swam in front of him once more. With a sigh of frustration, he realized that he simply couldn't do what he planned, if only for her sake. He blew a strand of hair away from his face, and moved back to the bed, fingering the wand idly.

He lay down, possessed suddenly of an overwhelming sense of tiredness. His eyes drooped, and his hand, still holding the elder wand, dropped to his side. The wand slipped from his grip and lay beside him.

That was how Hermione found him, 15 minutes later.

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Hermione climbed the stairs to Sirius's room alone, having agreed with Ron that it may be best if she saw Harry by herself first, as they had been the main players in the little slice of drama that had taken place downstairs. She reached the room and knocked hesitantly.

No answer. She wasn't terribly surprised, figuring that if his mood in the kitchen was anything to go by, he wouldn't be feeling particularly friendly at the moment. Steeling her resolve to deal with an inevitably morose Harry Potter, Hermione pushed the door open an entered the room.

For a moment she simply stared at him. He was lying on the bed, jaw slack, arms limp. He might just be asleep, her pragmatic brain told her, but then she saw the wand that lay next to his hand, and blind panic took over.

For the second time that day, Hermione flung herself at Harry, although this time she was expecting the worst. A cry left her as she left her place by the door, a strangled yelp of misery.

To an outsider, what happened next could almost be considered comical. Harry sat up so quickly at the unexpected noise his glasses flew off the end of his nose. Hermione froze in mid stride, halfway to the bed, eyes bugging and mouth hanging open.

And then she simply whimpered and fainted dead away.

Still trying to come to terms with what had just happened, Harry was further disorientated by thunderous noises coming from the stairs, and next second Ron burst into the room, panic on his face.

"I heard Hermione scream! What…?" he began. Then he saw Hermione on the floor, and his face darkened.

"What have you done, you lunatic?" he screamed at Harry, who stared back through sleep fogged eyes.

"What?" the boy asked dumbly, still too confused to understand the situation.

Ron gestured frantically at the still form of Hermione, before moving swiftly to her side and feeling for a pulse. To his relief he found one. Harry had finally worked out what had happened and what Ron was assuming, and quickly went on the defense.

"Hang on a minute, I don't know what happened! She just started screaming at me and I woke up! She kinda stared at me and then she just fainted!" he exclaimed angrily, before adding. "Is she ok?" In a softer voice.

Ron stared at his friend, slightly ashamed of himself for suspecting Harry of such an unthinkable action.

"She fainted?" He echoed, failing to answer the inquiry as to her health.

"Yes!"

"Oh. I-I thought…"

"You thought I attacked her?" Harry said, failing to keep the note of accusation out of his voice. Ron had the good grace to look ashamed.

"Yeah…" he mumbled. Harry's face hardened at the confirmation.

"Listen." He said in a dangerous voice. "I don't give a fuck how much things have changed, that is one thing you should never assume about me. Don't do that again mate."

Ron looked surprised at the hard edged voice Harry spoke in, and replied in kind. "Well as long as we're all asking favors, I think I'd like you to promise not to try and kill yourself in front of Hermione again. You know, if it's not too much trouble." He wasn't sure what made him say it, and even as he did so he felt ashamed, but there was only so much one person could through in a day and Ron, who was well known to have the emotional range of a teaspoon, had been through the proverbial wringer.

Harry leapt of the bed, snatching up the elder wand as he did so, and stood in front of Ron. "What did you just say?" He asked, his voice rising slightly in pitch. Ron didn't balk, even though a voice in the back of his head was screaming at him to apologize.

"You heard me!" He replied, voice raising a little in response. "No more bullshit, tragic hero acts!"

The silence was deafening. Harry just stared in disbelief, while Ron kicked himself over and over for proving yet again that was a terrible friend.

"You…" Harry managed to choke out, breaking the silence. The rest of his thought was lost as he seemed to wrestle with himself, but eventually he looked back up at Ron, who for his part was pained to see that Harry looked close to tears.

"I told you downstairs Ron, you don't know me well enough to judge me. You have no idea. Do you think I'm doing this on purpose? For attention?"

"Well, are you?"

Harry just stared at him, flabbergasted, while Ron debated with himself the merits of throwing himself out of the window in penance for his words. Before either could act, however, a low moan from the floor dragged their attention away from the spat, and they both knelt down next to Hermione, worry creasing their faces. She sat up gingerly, with a hand to her head.

"W-what..?" She began, before her eyes widened comically and she screeched, "HARRY!" Causing both boys to jerk away from her. The movement attracted her attention, and she looked desperately at Harry, as though desperate to confirm that he wasn't a mirage. When apparently satisfied that he was not only solid, but living and breathing as well, she slumped back against the wall and buried her face in her hands. After a few moment of silence, she spoke. "Did you do it on purpose?" she asked in a small voice.

Harry was thrown by the question. For a moment, he thought she was referring to the incident in the kitchen, but realized quickly that his intentions had been quite plain in that particular episode. Not wanting to upset her further, he simply answered her question with another.

"Did I do what on purpose, Hermione?" He asked gently. She raised her face from her hands, and Harry was uncomfortably shown that she was crying again. He hated the fact that it was his fault as well, and another wave of guilt swept over him.

"Did you mean to scare me, when you were lying on the bed like that? I thought you'd… I thought you'd done… done _it_." she finished lamely.

Harry balked at the accusatory tone in her voice, and hastened to deny that he had meant anything of the sort. "No! Or course not Hermione! I would never! I would never do that to you!" He exclaimed, willing her to believe him. She dropped her gaze from his, and he knew that she wasn't entirely convinced.

"Why do you have the elder wand, Harry?" she asked.

Harry glanced down at the thin piece of wood in his hand and paused. There seemed to be little point in trying to keep up the act now that they had seen it, and somehow, outright lying to his friends was a lot more irksome than simply not telling them about it. He sighed, coming to a decision.

"I never took it back to Dumbledore's tomb; that was just a ruse to try and make sure no one knew where it was. After the battle I brought it back here and kept in my dresser. Put the strongest enchantments I could around it. Kept it hidden. Kept it safe."

"And you didn't tell us?"

Harry shrugged, he was feeling guilty enough already, without that weighing on his conscience as well. "I wanted to be the only one to know where it was." he replied. "That way no-one would ever know where to look for it, and when I died its power would break."

"But why did you have it with you on the bed?"

She wasn't letting him go easily, he knew. Now that he had started, the compulsion to tell the truth was overwhelming. He stood up and moved over to the bed, where he sat again. Without looking at either of Ron or Hermione, he began to speak in a dull monotone, eager to get the explanation out of the way. As he did so, he was reminded forcibly of how Barty Crouch Jr had spilled his secrets under the influence of veritaserum.

"I was pissed off when you came, Hermione, I won't lie. I hadn't seen either of you in so long, the last thing I was expecting was for you to come bursting out of the fireplace and tackle me." He laughed mirthlessly. "It would have all been over; the two of you could've moved on without having to feel like you were leaving me behind, and I could have finally stopped being… whatever the fuck I am at the moment. But then you showed up with the most unbelievable timing and scuppered all those careful plans."

He paused briefly and looked up at her. Tears were still falling thick and fast down her face, and Harry looked down again quickly, hating the sight. "I came up here and pulled the elder wand out of the drawer. I was going to do it anyway. You might have won round 1, but I was damn well going to have the last laugh, that was for sure. I had it in my hand, I was about to say the words."

He couldn't help it, he had to look at her. His eyes locked with hers, emerald with brown, and he continued. "But then I remembered the look on your face when you'd seen me in the kitchen… and I couldn't do it. I wanted to so, so badly, but I couldn't stand the thought of making you look like that again. Hell, just seeing you cry like this has been enough to make me feel stupidly guilty as it is. I was ready to hurt myself, Hermione, in the worst way possible, but I couldn't do it if I knew it was going to hurt you too. So I didn't."

Hermione stared at him intently. "How come you could do it the first time? How could you not think it would hurt me then?" she demanded. Harry sighed and dropped his gaze.

"We hadn't seen each other in days." he muttered. "I'd just convinced myself you'd be happier, better off without me dragging you down. Plus I hadn't seen that look on your face yet." he added.

Hermione got up abruptly and walked away from Ron, who had stayed silent throughout the little expose. She stood in front of Harry, eyeing him critically.

She slapped him. Hard.

"That," she said, "is for being an idiot." She stepped closer to him, causing him to flinch away slightly, but before he knew it he was being smothered in a crushing hug. They stayed that way for a long time, and when they pulled away, Hermione gave him a watery smile. "And that's for being an even bigger idiot." she whispered, before leaning in for another embrace.

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**Well that was fun, wasn't it? Hope you guys are enjoying the story so far, see you soon with the next chappie. **

**-TR**

**P.S. Just realized I have the same initials as Tom Riddle... which is pretty awesome really. So give me a review and I won't unleash dark forces upon you! ;)**


	4. Chapter 4: Games at Grimauld

**Chapter 4, and the longest one yet! Not only is it the longest, it's also the one I had the most fun writing. The overall feel is a bit less miserable in this chapter, and hopefully you have fun reading it. **

**I don't own Harry Potter by the way.**

Ron stumbled through the front door of the Burrow later that evening, his mind full and his stomach empty. If there was one constant in Ron Weasley's life, it was that no amount of psychological trauma was enough to dampen his appetite.

He fell into a chair at the table, and immediately dug into the nosh his mother had prepared. Some of the family acknowledged his arrival and his mother questioned him as to why he was late, but largely it was a silent affair at the Wealey family dinner. It had been ever since Fred's death, and the atmosphere had been anything but improved when Harry had begun to not attend as well.

Ron ate his meal moodily, shoveling down just as much as he usually did, but without his typical enthusiasm. His mother continued to chide him for his lateness, and began questioning him on his mood, but he blew her off without preamble.

If anyone had ever had a more action packed day, he would like to hear of it, because no doubt it would make an incredible story. His own wasn't half bad itself: a furious row, a breakup, attempted suicide, forgiveness, misunderstandings, another row, remonstrations and finally, explanations.

It made him ill just thinking about it.

Ron sighed inwardly. He could hardly believe the drama that had enveloped his life since the end of the war. He had thought things could never be darker than the aftermath of Fred's death, and with the defeat of Voldemort and the classical triumph of good over evil which he had helped bring about, he had felt safe in the knowledge that that was at bad as things were going to get.

He was tempted to steal a time turner just to go back in time and slap his younger self for daring to be so hopeful.

Harry's suicide attempt had opened his eyes to the greater reality, and that was that even though the darkness was supposed to have ended, the damage was far too great to be so easily forgotten. Harry's attitude was evidence of that, as was the miserable atmosphere around the Weasley's dinner table. Voldemort's death had brought unbridled celebration to the streets of wizarding Britain, and a smile to the face of every man woman and child who had the misfortune to know who he was. But for the battlers, the ones who had sacrificed everything to bring the greatest dark wizard in a thousand years down, the ones who had fought and suffered and watched loved one's have the life torn from them, recovery meant more than simply putting on a silly hat and downing a firewhiskey shot.

_Complicated rot, _Ron thought to himself. Before he could sink any deeper into the depressive mire, his musings were interrupted by Percy.

"Hang on a moment. Where's Ginny?"

Molly stiffened at the mention of her daughter, before replying. "In her room. She's confined there for a week, since her little escapade last night."

Ron looked up from his plate, thankful for the distraction. "What? Isn't she getting fed?"

Molly sniffed. "Going hungry one night won't hurt her Ro-RON!" she exclaimed, as her youngest son pushed his chair back with a clatter, before piling a plate high with food, an ugly look on his face.

"That's total bull." He snarled, before turning from the table and stalking towards the staircase with pile of food, obviously to take it to Ginny.

"Ronald Weasley!" Came Molly's reprimand. "You come back here this instant! I will not have you challenging my authority in this matter, young man!"

When Ron failed to stop or even acknowledge her, she threw up her hands in exasperation, exclaiming, "What next!" before getting up herself and following Ron towards the stairs. Before she even reached the first one however, there came from several stories above, the unmistakable sound of a shattering plate, and before anyone at the table could do more than look confusedly at one another, Ron's thunderous footsteps were echoing through the house as he came bounding down the stairs.

He flew out the stairwell, a panicked expression on his face, and raced straight past his mother to stand in front of the rest of his family, who were staring at him in undisguised shock. For as second he stood there silently, before whispering.

"Ginny's gone."

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Hermione spent most of the evening preparing a meal for herself and Harry. She had remained at Grimauld Place when Ron had left for the Burrow, the better to care for her friend. She and Harry had spent a tearful afternoon in each other's company, which, while emotionally draining, had provided both with a source of comfort. Eventually, Harry's ever present exhaustion had flared up again, and she had put him to bed, making sure as she did so that the elder wand was safely tucked away.

Now she stood over the stove, doing her best to cook lamb chops and vegies without igniting the kitchen in the process. Considering the stove she was using was at least 200 years old, this was no mean feat.

Her eyes were Red and puffy, betraying the evidence of the copious amount of tears they had shed that day, but still her mouth was pressed into a slight smile. Although she couldn't claim to have fixed Harry yet, she felt that the recovery process was already well under way, which was a result she considered to be positive in the extreme.

As the smell of the cooking meat permeated the kitchen, Hermione was jerked from her musings by a squeak outside the door. She turned in time to see a freshly awoken Harry enter, apparently roused from slumber by the promise of food.

Truthfully, if his appearance was anything to go on, Harry hadn't been eating well lately. Mrs Weasley would have had a fit over the way his cheekbones stuck out prominently in his face, or by how sunken his eyes appeared. Although his green orbs still emanated a haunted, slightly crazed look, Hermione was pleased to see a tired smile on his face, which although failed to reach his eyes, improved his countenance drastically.

Hermione smiled at her friend. "Tea's almost ready." She told him. "If you'd like some coffee, there's a pot over there, or there are teabags in the drawer if you'd prefer."

Harry's smile grew ever so slightly larger at the motherly tone she had adopted, and although he knew much of her cheeriness was forced for his sake, he was grateful nonetheless.

When at last Hermione deemed the potatoes to be of a satisfactory consistency, the food was ladled out and they ate in a silence that was both comfortable and awkward at the same time. So much had been said already that afternoon there seemed little point in punctuating the first decent meal Harry had probably eaten in months just to revisit the apologies and explanations they had already repeated to one another ad nauseam.

When they had finished, and stood washing up at the sink together, Hermione finally decided to break the silence.

"Harry?"

"Mmhmm?"

"How-how are you?" she murmured, unable to look at him. Despite the fact, she could feel his gaze on the side of her face, and shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.

"Not very good Hermione, to be honest with you."

Hermione's heart plummeted. She wasn't sure what she had been hoping to hear, as her rational mind had told her that it would take something of a minor miracle to cure Harry of suicidal tendencies in just an afternoon. Still, she couldn't but feel a slight sense of let down at the confirmation. While she thought, Harry started talking again.

"To tell you the truth Hermione, I'm still not sure I'm happy that you came when you did today."

Hermione could feel the tears threatening to spill over, but she held them down for now, filled with a morbid desire to hear what he had to say.

"But…" Hermione's heart leapt, maybe there was a silver lining after all!

"But…?" she prompted.

"Let me put it this way." He said. "Before all this happened, when I was just about to off myself, I didn't feel like there was any way out of the place that I am. I felt trapped. I still do, really. But now, ever since you turned up and proved that you really do care… I don't know, it feels sort of like, even though I'm in a terribly dark place, and the way out seems impossibly far away, the difference is that there _is_ a way out at all. There's a tiny glimmer of light there and I have this feeling that maybe, just maybe, I might be able to reach it. Twelve hours ago I would have told you there was no hope; that I was either going to exist in perpetual misery, or cease to be. Now there's a third option. It's barely better that the other two, but it is better, it is a change, and it is a chance. I've got you to thank for giving me that third option, and even though I can't honestly say I'm grateful to you for saving my life today, I feel that in the future I might be. I'm truly sorry I can't give you better than that."

Hermione didn't even try to stop the hot tears that poured down her face. She may have shed far more than was normal already today, but Harry's speech had unleashed a torrent of fresh supplies she hadn't even known were there. As she cried, she felt a hand on her shoulder, and before she knew, she was engulfing the startled boy in a hug, now positively howling.

After several minutes of this, Hermione finally hiccoughed herself back into sensibility, and they broke apart. Harry was looking supremely awkward, but Hermione though she caught a glimpse of happiness beneath the veneer. She gave him a watery smile and together, they finished the dishes.

After a final cup of coffee, Hermione announced that she was going to bed, but just as she reached the doorway, she was stopped by a call.

"Hang on a second Hermione, whaddya say to a little nightcap?"

She turned to see Harry waggling a massive bottle of what appeared to be firewhiskey, as well as a couple of shot glasses he seemed to have abruptly conjured.

"Is that-?" she started, before Harry finished the sentence for her, a large grin splitting his features.

"-Odgen's finest, my dear." Even though his grin was large and cheery, Hermione was disheartened to see that it was still failing to light up his eyes like she was so used to. Just as she was about to refuse, claiming the need for sleep a little, rarely listened to voice piped up in the back of her mind.

_Why not?_

Why not indeed? And with that, she returned to the table and accepted a sizable shot of Odgen's Best.

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Half a bottle of firewhiskey later, and Harry and Hermione were looking a little worse for wear. Hermione was giggling uncontrollably, while Harry simply enjoyed the feeling of his mind hazing over, blocking out his more miserable thoughts.

"Harry!" Hermione suddenly shouted. "Let's play a game!"

Harry started a little, nonplussed at the sudden announcement. "Okay," he agreed, "what type of game?"

Hermione looked thoughtful; before breaking into a wide smile. "Truth or dare!" she exclaimed, with a very un-Hermione-ish giggle.

Harry shook his head in disbelief, but agreed to the suggestion anyway. "Okay, but I'm going first." he told her. Hermione shrugged in acceptance.

"Okay then, truth her dare?" he asked her.

"Dare." Hermione said, without hesitation. Harry ginned.

"Ho ho, feeling adventurous are we? You're going to regret this, my dear." He told her with a teasing grin. Hermione glared at him defiantly.

"Do your worst!" she declared.

"My worst eh? Well, if you insist." He made a show of leaning back in his chair, thinking hard. In reality, he was already had the perfect dare for introverted, socially awkward Hermione Granger, and he knew that even liberally inebriated, she would struggle to perform what he had in mind.

"I, Harry Potter, dare you, Hermione Granger, to go next door, and serenade the occupants with a rendition of "Shipping up to Boston" at the top of your voice, in your best Irish accent!" He announced.

He was pleased with the dare, it wasn't vindictive or cruel, and many people would have performed it without a moment's hesitation, but if he knew Hermione, and he did, it was something she would struggle with magnificently.

True to his expectations, Hermione balked. "Harrryyyyy!" she whined. 'No!"

Harry's smile grew wider. "Oh yes! Besides, this was your idea."

"But I don't want to! I don't even know those people!" came the sulky reply.

Harry sighed. "That's kinda the point Hermione, it would be boring if I made it easy, wouldn't it?"

Hermione wasn't giving in. "Give me another one, please?" she beseeched him.

Harry sighed, but inside he was secretly grinning. He now had her backed into a corner. He rolled his eyes dramatically.

"Fine, I suppose I can give you another option…"

"Yay!" Hermione cried, brightening considerably at the chance she wouldn't have to perform the humiliating act.

"I dare you to go over to the Burrow, right this instant, wake Ginny Weasley up, and confess your undying and passionate love for her." He stated with as straight a face as he could manage.

Hermione simply stared at him, the hopeful air she had adopted mere seconds ago evaporating as quickly as it had come. Once she had overcome the initial shock of the dare however, she swelled like a balloon.

"Whaaaatt?" she screeched. Harry just grinned at her.

"You heard me."

Hermione looked at him pleadingly. "No Harry, please. That-that's just too odd. Give me another."

"Okay, go next door and sing 'Shipping up to Boston' at the top of your voice to the owners in your best Irish accent." He told her, now grinning like a maniac.

"But-but you already gave me that one…" Hermione said in a small voice, clearly hoping he had made a mistake.

"Exactly, I've given you two options, more than generous in my opinion. Now you have to choose!"

Hermione looked devastated. "But-but…" she blurted out, apparently unable to conjure up anything more in the way of argument.

"Yes? Which one will it be?"

Hermione pouted. "You're not going to give me another one, are you?" she asked.

"Nope."

"And if I don't do either, you'll never let me forget it, correct?"

"Oh yeah."

"Fine then. I choose the singing."

Harry grinned again. "Thought you might." He said.

Hermione glared at him. "I am going to get you back for this Harry Potter, and don't you forget it."

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Hermione returned five minutes later, glowing like a beacon with embarrassment, and covered in a mysterious liquid the muggles who occupied number eleven had thrown at her once she had embarked on the chorus for the third time. Harry was howling with laughter, but consented to give her a comforting hug when he saw the mortified expression on her face. After a quick wash, Hermione returned to the kitchen, a vindictive smile replacing the sorrowful expression on her face.

"Alright, my turn! Truth or dare?"

"Truth." Harry said bluntly, and enjoyed the spectacular sight of Hermione almost literally blowing her top.

"Truth! You can't pick truth!" she exclaimed.

"Why not?"

Hermione seemed to struggle for an answer, before replying feebly, "Because I chose dare, and you got a good laugh out of it! You can't just pick boring old truth!" she told him indignantly. "Besides, I already know everything about you!" she added.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Maybe, but we're playing _truth _or dare, not just dare. And I pick truth."

Hermione glowered at him for a long while, and Harry could almost see the cogs whirring away in her head. To his surprise, she wilted slightly and said, "Fine, you choose truth. Give me a second." Before going back to her thoughtful state.

Slightly nonplussed at her lack of argument and sudden change in attitude, Harry waited for her to speak.

"Okay Harry," Hermione whispered, while leaning in slightly towards him, "I have one."

She was biting her lip idly and refusing to look at him, but she leant in a little closer, and Harry felt compelled to do the same.

Hermione let out a shuddering breath and shifted her gaze to look directly into his eyes. Harry felt his breath hitch ever so slightly in his throat at the intensity of her gaze, and felt himself slide towards her a little more.

"Harry…" Hermione breathed. "I-"

They were very close now, uncomfortably close. It wasn't closeness like a hug, the absence of any actual touching and the presence of the table between them made it somehow more intimate than that.

"Yes." Harry prompted, and was vaguely ashamed to hear how hoarse his voice was.

Hermione looked at him with that piercing gaze before leaning right in so that their noses were barely and inch apart.

And then she spoke.

"Harry. Just how sexy a babe do you think I am?" she said, her voice breaking as she tried and failed to hold in a raucous peal of laughter.

Harry Potter could not have been more thrown if he had been hit by a throwing curse. It was possibly the greatest faux pas in recorded human history. Hermione had played him like a pro. He stared fixedly ahead for the merest of seconds, mouth hanging open, before he released the pent up tension he had been holding inside all at once, and collapsed face first onto the table with a piteous groan.

Hermione rolled around on the floor, the laughter keeping her incapacitated for an inordinate amount of time, while Harry thunked his head repeatedly into the solid wood of the table.

Finally, Hermione managed to drag herself back to her seat, still hiccoughing with mirth. "The look on your face! Oh. My. God." she crowed. "I told you I'd get you back, Harry."

Harry groaned. "Yes. I daresay you did." he muttered, voice slightly muffled by the wooden tabletop that his face was still pressed into.

After giving him a few moments to wallow in humiliation, Hermione cleared her throat, gaining Harry's attention.

"So then…" she began uncertainly, and Harry was surprised to see yet another change in attitude. Hermione now seemed altogether unsure of herself, and he thought he could discern the merest trace of a blush on her face.

"So what?" he asked, rather bluntly.

Hermione reddened further. "So I asked you a question Harry. This is truth or dare, you have to give an answer remember?"

Harry gaped at her, wondering vaguely just how she was getting so many one's up on him, when she was supposed to be blasted. "Wh-what was the question again?" he stuttered, playing for time.

There was no mistaking it this time, Hermione blushed crimson. It was clear that, in her mind at least, phrasing the question in order to embarrass him was another thing entirely to asking it with the intention of getting an honest answer. Especially when it was such a ridiculous question in the first place. Harry decided to take pity on her, and answered the question without forcing her to repeat it.

"Hermione, if you weren't the type to play horribly cruel jokes on poor, innocent people, then I would say you were without doubt the sexiest babe I have ever had the fortune to come across." He said. He had meant to say it jokingly, but for some reason he had stumbled over the words, his tongue stubbornly refusing to co-operate fully with his brain.

Hermione looked at him thoughtfully, her head slightly tilted and a small smile playing around the corners of her mouth.

"Good." Was all she said before she once more leant in close to him. This time there was no hesitation and she grabbed Harry firmly by the collar, dragging him towards the center of the table as well.

And then she kissed him.

In that moment, Harry's mind was blank, but beneath his closed eyelids the light that had been missing from his eyes for so long, suddenly sparked into life.

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**BAM! The Harry/Hermione sequence was a lot of fun to write. I realize I may have left the whole Ginny plot line unsatisfactorily resolved after setting it up with the first part of this chappie, but I just felt that this was the right place to end the chapter. Rest assured I'll address Ginny's issues soon.**

**As always, let me know what you think. Thanks to Gonekrazy3000 who's left me a review for every chapter so far. **

**-TR **


	5. Chapter 5: Foul Fortunes

**Hi everyone, hope you're enjoying the story so far. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed/added story to their favorites list etc etc. This chapter features the return of Ginny, whom we haven't seen since chapter 1! **

**In fact, this chapter is pretty much focused entirely on Harry/Ginny interactions (don't worry, no romance. I wouldn't do that to Hermione!) Plenty of character development and exposition in this chapter, but less humor (or at least my feeble attempt at humor). **

**I'm a bit nervous about this chapter, but I'm happy with how it turned out I think… I've changed the rating to M, due to language, substance abuse and generally mature subject matter, which will only get worse :P It's also a bit more depressing than the last, let's see how that goes, shall we?**

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Ginny's first thought, as she eyed the room she stood in critically, was that there were not nearly enough bottles of firewhiskey on the table. She counted 12, and nearly all of those were empty, nowhere near enough to sate the thirst she currently felt for the fiery drink.

Harry was lying at the table though, maybe he would know where more were.

"Oi!" she called, giving him a kick for good measure. Harry jerked awake, and blinked confusedly at her for a few seconds.

"Ginny?" he muttered. "Wha' you doing here?"

She ginned roguishly at him. "Fuckin' pub kicked me out. Though' you might have booze." She told him casually. "Guess I was right?" she added, gesturing at the bottles that lay strewn around the room and at the unconscious form of Hermione, who was lying prostrate on the bench.

Harry frowned. "It's 4 in the morning, Gin." he told her. "The hell are you doing wandering around town at 4 in the morning?"

She held up a hand. "Harry, please. The reason I'm not at the Burrow is because I can't stand the lectures, don't tell me I'm going to have the same problem here?"

Harry sighed. "Let me get this straight. You've run off from the Burrow again."

Ginny shrugged. "Not permanently or anything, but there's no way I'm spending the entire week there. Besides, town is fun!"

"What will you do if I don't give you any booze?"

"I'll piss off and find someone less of a prude. Maybe Seamus Finnegan or something."

Harry groaned, he was too hung over for this.

"Fine, you can have a few here, but only to keep you from running off and getting yourself hurt." He told her, while she skipped with glee. He got up from the table and shuffled over to the cooler, where he drew out a bottle of firewhiskey. He paused for a second, before reaching back in and grabbing another.

For the night he was having, severe inebriation was the only cure.

"Here you go." He said, handing Ginny one of the bottles, before opening his own and throwing back a swig. "You do know if your mum finds out about this I will be sans testicles sooner than you can say, 'You done goofed.' Right?"

Ginny nodded casually. "Sure, but it wouldn't end much better for me either, so I don't think you have to worry about me running my mouth."

They sat down at the table, opposite one another, taking occasional swigs and watching each other. They both knew their relationship was long over, but having ended in such an ambiguous way was naturally going to create some awkwardness. Fortunately, firewhiskey was significantly stronger than butterbeer, and they were soon pleasantly buzzed enough to forget the atmosphere.

"So whad're you up to anyway." Ginny slurred. "Kicked me to th' curb, but yer all snuggly with ice queen here." She gestured to Hermione.

Harry laughed. "Fuck off Gin."

"Woah, what? You don't say stuff like tha'! Yer meant to work with me through my jealousy issues to allow me to become a be'er person, and all that bull." She told him indignantly. "That's wha' you always do!"

Harry didn't rise. "Yeah well let's just say I've got enough complications in my life without adding yours as well."

Ginny's eyes widened. "No way! You're fuckin' the ice queen!" she exclaimed.

Harry snorted "Of course I'm not. I'm just contemplating suicide and wondering if next time I try I'll be able to do it without being interrupted."

People say that coffee is a good way to sober up, but Ginny Weasley can attest that there is no better remedy than being told one of your best friends has attempted suicide.

"No." she whispered, eyes wider than ever. Harry looked calmly back at her, and she knew he was completely serious. Now she was angry.

"Are you retarded?" she hissed. "What the fuck were you thinking? Do you have any idea what that would have _done _to us?"

"Not at the time, no. But I got a fair idea when I saw the look on Hermione's face after she stopped me.

"When she stopped…? No way… YOU DID IT IN FRONT OF HER?" Ginny bellowed. "ARE. YOU. _INSANE?" _She was staring at him as though she had never seen him clearly before.

"Oh shut up. You'll wake her."

Ginny scoffed. "Oh I'm sure, what a tragedy that would be! I might wake her up! That really puts committing suicide in front of her into perspective doesn't it?" she raged.

Harry sighed, an action he was doing a lot of lately. "I didn't exactly do it on purpose you know. It was just really, _really_ shitty timing. She flooed here just as I was about to do it, and managed to stop me." He gestured at the blistered wall. "That's where the curse hit."

Ginny stared at the ruined wall for a while, looking faintly sick. Finally, she let out a long breath and looked at him again. Harry could tell it was only through a great amount of will power that she wasn't still yelling at him. When she did speak, Harry was annoyed to hear a note of hurt in her voice. He was never any good at dealing with emotional girls. Especially ones as unpredictable as Ginny Weasley.

"How could you do it Harry?" she whispered.

"Well basically, I picked up my wand, pointed it my head and-" he stopped speaking as Ginny interrupted him.

"Don't be sick, Harry. You know bloody well what I meant!"

"What do you want me to say? I was thoroughly miserable and I didn't want to be alive anymore. Isn't that enough?" he asked her, almost pleadingly.

"No it bloody well isn't enough! How could you be feeling that bad? You've got great friends who love you! The wizarding world worships the ground you walk on! You're rich as Merlin. You defeated the most evil man the world has seen! What more do you want?" she ranted, staring at him in challenge.

Harry looked intently back at her, debating whether he should continue the line of conversation. He didn't want to speak what was on his mind, but he knew Ginny wouldn't be dissuaded. Finally, he shrugged, and began to speak.

"Do you remember who died in the battle Ginny? Do you remember their names? Their faces?"

"Well…" she stuttered. "Maybe not every single one, but all the ones that mattered to me, yeah!"

"I see them all. Every one. Their faces are always there. I know why they died, I know that they're heroes, and I know that they don't regret for a moment going into battle.

"But I can't get them out of my head. Every time I close my eyes, from dusk till dawn, they're there. Burned into my brain; all angry, all accusing. They yell at me in my sleep, tell me how I betrayed their trust, how it's my fault that they're all dead."

Ginny interrupted him. "Harry! How can you still be thinking this? How can you think that it's your fault? You saved the world, more or less. How can possibly you're at all to blame for their deaths?"

Harry smiled ruefully at her. "But you said it yourself Ginny. Because I'm insane."

Ginny stared at him, flabbergasted. "No you're not." She said roughly. "You're not!" she repeated in a stronger voice.

"Harry." She said, seizing his arm and squeezing it hard. "It was not. Your. Fault. You have to understand that!"

Harry gave her a sad smile. "But I do know that Ginny. I know that I'm completely blameless. That, if anything, those faces should be thanking me for ensuring that their loved ones can live in a world without Voldemort. But my subconscious doesn't know that, and that's the problem."

He fumbled for a moment in his coat pocket, before drawing out a crumpled packet of cigarettes. He drew one with shaking fingers and lit it with his wand, sighing with relief as the smoke entered his lungs.

Ginny was surprised at the revelation that he smoked, and told him so. He smiled at her. "Yeah, it's a psychological thing. I don't even like them much, but they help, such as it is."

Ginny sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "Can I bum one off you?" she asked. He shrugged and offered the packet. Ginny took one, lit it, and together they sat at the table in thoughtful contemplation. When the cigarettes had burned down to ashes, they wordlessly took another each, and smoked them down as well. As the pack disappeared, and the clock on the wall crept ever further into morning, Harry's hands stopped shaking a little, and Ginny's mind had a chance to unwind ever so slightly.

Finally, the packet was empty, and Ginny let the last lungful of smoke creep out the side of her mouth in a lazy spiral. She sighed. "That was… strangely relaxing." She said.

"Told you." Harry said. They sat silently for a little while longer, until Harry decided to speak again.

"Mrs Weasley's been telling me some pretty thrilling stories about your exploits lately." He prompted her.

Ginny snorted. "I bet she has. But she doesn't understand."

"I might."

Ginny eyed him critically, before nodding. "You probably will." She accepted.

A few more seconds passed in silence.

"Well?" Harry prompted.

"Well what?"

"Well what's with running away at all hours, driving them into a frenzy and getting completely wasted every other night all about?"

Ginny laughed. "You don't like to mince words, do you Potter?"

"Why bother sugar coating it when you'll know exactly what I mean underneath it anyway?"

After a thoughtful look, Ginny nodded. "Good point."

"So are you gonna answer." Harry asked, starting to get a little exasperated. Ginny nodded.

"I suppose so." she sighed. "But I really don't know what I'm going to say."

"Doesn't matter. Take your time."

Ginny sat for a while. "I suppose," she began hesitantly, "it's mainly because you're not the only one who has issues." She looked up at him, eyeing him with an almost annoyed expression, as though he were being tactless for not assuming she was emotionally damaged.

"When the war ended, I was just like everyone else. Relieved that it was over, but devastated at what it had cost us. So I came to you for comfort. I thought, now that the war was over, that you'd be able to finally live a normal life, in which case so would I. Do you remember the night after the battle?" she asked him suddenly.

Harry nodded. "Of course."

"Well that was as good as I got as far as comfort goes from you. After that you retreated into your little hole, and there apparently wasn't enough room in there for me. I needed you to keep being the hero for just a little bit longer Harry, just long enough to get me back on my feet, but you didn't.

"So instead I went looking for comfort elsewhere. I'm only sixteen, where am I supposed to go to find that? I tried old boyfriends, friends, and family obviously. But none of them worked. Dean and the others didn't know any better method of cheering me up than shagging. Neville and Luna were good, but they didn't have the answers. Of all the people I talked to, my family were the only ones I was genuinely confident wouldn't let me down.

"But they did. Have you been to a Weasley dinner lately Harry?"

He shook his head.

"Well I don't recommend them. No-one talks anymore, everyone just wallows in misery about Fred. I tried talking to mum, but she just told me, 'the pain will pass' and expected that to be enough. And when I started acting out she didn't talk to me at all except to yell at me. Dad was better, but he's so busy trying to fix up the ministry at the moment that I barely see him. Bill, Charlie, Percy, George… even Ron, none of them helped in the slightest.

"I'm like you in some respects Harry, but instead of becoming suicidal, I just ignored my problems by getting as plastered as I possibly could at every opportunity. I'm not the only one. George is never sober these days, but because I'm the youngest, and a _girl_, all the attention gets put onto me. I started having screaming matches with everyone just to get them to speak. What type of family only speaks when it's to yell?" she asked pleadingly, tears in her eyes.

Harry was silent. In all his musings on the youngest Weasley's current behavior, he honestly had never considered there to be such a genuine answer. She was right, her situation was a lot like his, but it made sense that she had dealt with it so differently. She always had been a firebrand, while he, as Snape had always been so eager to point out, was ruled by his heart. He had allowed the misery and pain to drag him down, while she had raged and fought against it, desperately trying to find a way to defeat it.

He sighed. Life was hard…

"Do you know what's going to happen, Ginny?" he asked her. "Are you going to be like this forever? Will you calm down? Or are you going to end up pushing your luck too far, and wind up dead in a gutter somewhere?" he hadn't mean it to sound so tactless, but there you are.

Ginny looked at him. She didn't seem perturbed by his words. She looked into the distance thoughtfully. "To tell you the truth, I've wondered that myself. It was scary for a while, but then I did some serious thinking. What do you know about Grindelwald's reign of terror, Harry?"

"I'm sorry, what are we talking about now?" Harry asked, completely thrown by the change in subject.

Ginny giggled. "We're still talking about the same thing dumbass. What do you know about Grindelwald, and when he was powerful?"

"Not a lot… I know it was related to what the Muggles call World War Two, wasn't it?"

"It was." Ginny confirmed. "Grindelwald was the main antagonist behind the war, but of course the Muggles never knew. It was one of the only times in history magical and non-magical wars have overlapped in such a drastic way. Grindelwald used the Nazis expansion efforts to help spread his influence into foreign countries, and in turn he helped them with their goals.

"Millions of people died in that war Harry. But it wasn't the ones who died who really suffered. It was the ones that were left. Imagine what it would have been like. A huge chunk of an entire generation simply wiped out. What we're suffering is just so tiny in scale compared to that, but it's had the same effect."

Harry wasn't sure where she was going with this train of thought, but he was listening raptly anyway.

"I came to a realization Harry. The generation that was so brutally affected by Grindelwald never really recovered. Individuals maybe, the lucky ones who escaped with only a few losses. But the ones who lost everything, the entire male side of their family for instance, were never the same. They were sacrificed for the cause just as assuredly as the boys who had gone onto the battlefield just to be ripped apart."

Ginny looked at him, and there were tears pouring down her face, but when she spoke, her voice was steady and strong.

She was always strong. Always fighting.

"You and me Harry, we're the same as all those mothers, wives, daughters, brothers, fathers and girlfriends who had their families ripped away from them. We're the same as the 18 year olds who came back home without legs, with shellshock so bad they couldn't go out in public. That's what we are Harry. Damaged goods. The sacrifice the world had to make to become safe again. We're shellshocked.

"For a long time, that bothered me. I was angry at what my life had become. But then I remembered that life's not fair, and I remembered what I had done, what my sacrifice _meant_. And suddenly it didn't seems so bad. I know I'll never be the same again, and I know I'm not going to live to get old, but I can face that, because what we did mattered.

"So I'm not going to wall myself up, or pretend everything's okay, or wallow in self-pity. I'm not accusing you of being weak for doing just that, but we're very different people, and that's not how I'm going to deal with it. I'm going to have fun, but that's not possible while I'm sober, because I remember everything, so I get completely trashed, more than is healthy or normal. It's not a good system, but it works."

Harry looked at her for the longest time. She looked straight back at him. He could see the conviction in her eyes, and it broke him.

How did it come to this?

They needed help.

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**Well that's that. Sorry if you were expecting me to be a total bastard to Ginny, but I don't actually dislike her as a character. I like all the Weasleys, so I shan't be bashing them, at least not in this story. I just think Harry and Ginny make a terrible canon couple, same with Ron/Hermione. Oh well.**

**I know this story is very wordy and contains a good deal of the characters simply sitting around and talking, so if you're bored by this and want to experience a healthy dose of action/adventure, I'm afraid I may be letting you down. Sorry if that's the case, but this story is mainly concerned with character development; I want you guys to be able to empathize as much as possible with what they are going through. **

**Hopefully I'm succeeding in that endeavor. **

**Thanks so much for reading.**

**-TR**


	6. Chapter 6: Trouble Ahead

**Chapter 6! This chapter is setting up for something big, so get ready for a jam packed chapter coming up... that is all.**

**-I don't own Harry Potter. (surprise, surprise!)**

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_Hermione was asleep, and dreaming._

_That in itself wasn't strange, she often did that. But she didn't often dream about the colour red and flowery smells, but that's what she was dreaming about now. There was also talking, low and strained most of the time, but occasionally loud and angry. As hard as she tried, she couldn't quite identify the words, but she was vaguely annoyed that someone was having such an intense discussion without her._

_Where was she, anyway? Apart from the red, and the flowers, there was nothing to identify the place. What did those things remind her of…?_

"Hermione! Wake up."

_Of course. Ginny._

_*flashback*_

_"I dare you to go over to the Burrow, right this instant, wake Ginny Weasley up, and confess your undying and passionate love for her."_

_*End Flashback*_

_Oh no! What if Harry told her about the dare? How could she overcome such humiliation?_

"Noo… Ginny, it was a dare, I swear… I don't love you…"

"The hell is she talking about?"

"It's a long story. Funny though."

_She knew that voice. She loved that voice…_

Hermione sat bolt upright. Unfortunately, the space she was moving into was already occupied, and her forehead collided painfully with an object that made a resounding crack when she hit it.

"Owww!"

Oh dear. Hermione looked around to see what she had collided with, and was greeted by the glowering visage of Ginny Weasley, who was now sporting a brilliantly red nose to go with her hair.

Hermione couldn't help it, she started laughing.

It was infectious, soon Ginny had joined her on the floor laughing hysterically and hiccoughing, while the dark haired boy who watched them simply shook his head and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'girls'.

After several minutes of mirth, the two girls sat up. With a quick wave of her wand, Hermione fixed Ginny's nose, and siphoned off the blood, leaving her looking more or less like herself.

Or did it?

Hermione eyed Ginny critically for a moment, trying to determine what it was that had caught her eye. After a moment she realized what it was; Ginny looked ill. Her eyes were sunken and had dark bags underneath them, while her skin was even paler than usual. She even looked skinnier.

"You look awful, Ginny." She told her unthinkingly. Ginny pouted.

"Well hello to you to, Hermione. First you head-butt me in the face, and then you insult my looks, this morning is going wonderfully."

Hermione hastened to correct her statement, and Ginny looked mollified.

"I don't suppose you heard our conversation while you were zonked out on the bench there, did you?" she asked, sharing a surreptitious glance with Harry.

Hermione shook her head. She had seen the look the other two had shared, and wondered if she even wanted to know what the conversation had been about. With the distraction of Ginny's appearance, she had temporarily forgotten about what she and Harry had done last night, but now the realization hit her with full force. She was staggered to think what she'd done; it had seemed the right course of action at the time but now that she was sober again, kissing Harry seemed ridiculously foolhardy. They boy had tried to kill himself barely 24 hours beforehand, what was she doing giving him yet another thing to dwell on? And then there was Ron. Sure they had broken up, but kissing Harry so soon afterwards was a spectacularly fast turnaround.

Hermione's mind moved at a mile a minute, trying to fathom what she had been thinking by kissing Harry in a drunken stupor last night. In all honesty, she didn't regret what she'd done nearly as much as she thought she might have, but that didn't stop the hundred and one doubts and insecurities from hitting her like a freight train.

And now Harry and Ginny had been talking without her, sharing something important, if their expressions were anything to go by.

What if they were back together?

What if they hated her for making a move on Harry?

What if they had spent the night fu-

No. That was not a possibility she was willing to explore.

Harry and Ginny seemed to understand some of what she was thinking, and before she knew it there was a comforting hand on her shoulder. She looked into the eyes of Harry Potter, eyes she knew extremely well, and remembered how none of his smiles seemed to reach them anymore.

Then she did a double take.

Harry's eyes were twinkling. She gaped at him in disbelief. "H-harry…"

His smile grew wider, and his eyes seemed to glow.

"You're eyes…"

His smile faltered a little, but the twinkle remained. "What about them, Hermione?" he asked, and she could tell he was worried she thought there was something wrong.

She smiled as widely as she could.

"They're smiling."

For a minute he looked at her uncomprehendingly, but then he laughed and drew her into a hug. "Why yes, yes they are." He murmured into her hair. Hermione blushed at the sudden show of affection, but returned the hug fiercely, no longer regretting the previous night's events in the slightest.

It was almost too much to hope for that he had already found the way out of his predicament he had spoken of. She remembered what he had said yesterday evening, and wondered if it was possible that he had overcome the darkness. Surely it wasn't, but then again, she hadn't yet kissed him when he said those things last night, perhaps…

"How-how do you feel." She stammered, willing the answer to be positive. Harry seemed to understand what she meant, but she was worried when his smile became sad.

"I know what you want me to say, Hermione, but I can't. I'm not better yet, but I want you to know that I am in a much better place than I was yesterday, thanks to you."

Hermione blushed crimson. It wasn't the answer she had really been hoping for, but, she reflected, it was better than a poke in the eye with a blunt stick.

"Ahem." Came a slightly miffed cough from behind them. Harry and Hermione jumped apart, remembering that there was another person in the room. Ginny looked at them amusedly. "I hate to break up the scene, but are you still interested in hearing what I was saying?" she said, mainly to Hermione.

Hermione remembered what they had been talking about before she had had her mini nervous breakdown, and suddenly felt ashamed. Ginny had been about to explain why she was looking so ill these days, and Hermione had cut her off with her own stupid insecurities. She moved quickly to the younger girl and embraced her, whispering apologies.

Ginny pushed her away lightly, grinning. "Don't get your knickers in a twist, I understand."

"So what were you two talking about while I was passed out?" Hermione said, eager to move back onto the topic.

Ginny and Harry glanced at one another, and Hermione realized that neither were smiling any more. She also noted, with a jolt of dread, that Harry's eyes were once more dead and lifeless looking. The sight tore her heart apart, and she knew that whatever she was about to hear was not going to be pleasant.

"Will you tell her? Or shall I?" Ginny asked Harry, who looked at her solemnly for minute before speaking.

"You should say it. I could never convey what you did to me last night properly. It needs to mean as much to her as it did to me." He said.

Ginny nodded, looking slightly crestfallen, and Hermione knew she wasn't looking forward to repeating whatever it was. The fiery redhead took a deep, steadying breath, before sitting down at the table, looking intently at her hands. Hermione took a seat opposite her, and grasped one of Ginny's hands in her own, trying to give the younger girl strength. Ginny seemed to appreciate the gesture, and squeezed the hand that held hers lightly.

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When Ginny finished speaking, silence reigned around the table. Hermione was crying freely, while even Harry seemed to be struggling to hold back the emotion, despite having heard the tale once before.

Hermione sniffed loudly, got up from the table and crushed Ginny in a hug. Her friend didn't react much, and Hermione could tell the retelling had taken a lot out of her.

For her part, Hermione was staggered at the depth of thinking that had gone into Ginny's theory. The fact that she was facing the knowledge that she would never, could never be normal again was nothing short of heroic in Hermione's opinion.

_Damaged goods._

It was such a brutal way to describe what they had become, and yet it summed up perfectly the way they had all been acting. Hermione may have not tried to kill herself, nor had she gone off the rails as Ginny had, but the furious arguments she had had with Ron and the inability to maintain so many relationships that had been once so important to her indicated that she was effected in much the same way as her less subtle friends.

For a long while, she simply held Ginny close. In due time, Harry joined them at the table, and together the three of them drew comfort from one another.

When at last they broke apart, emotions were running high.

Ginny snuffled a bit. "I better head back to Burrow. I don't think anyone saw me head out and mum's being pretty tyrannical about no-one going in to see me, but still, best not risk it."

"How will you get back in without everybody noticing though?" Hermione asked.

"I'll just apparate straight into my room."

"But you don't have license yet do you?" Harry said questioningly. Ginny smiled at him.

"No, but when did that ever stop you?"

"Good point."

After another round of hugs, and after Hermione got Ginny to swear that she would at least try to get better, she walked out the front door, past the property's wards, and vanished on the spot.

Thirty seconds later, the fireplace flashed emerald and Ron Weasley appeared, a look of supreme worry on his face.

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"Guys! I know it's a long shot, but have either of you seen Ginny? She's missing again!" Ron exclaimed to his bemused friends.

"Whoa Ron, calm down." Harry said. "Ginny's, fine, she just went home."

Ron stared at him in disbelief for a second, before slumping into one of the kitchen chairs with a groan, resting his face in his hands.

"I don't believe it." he croaked.

"Ron, what's the problem?" asked Hermione, a little worried at her friend's behavior. "Ginny goes out all the time."

Ron looked up at them, a stricken look on his face. "You don't understand, Mum's gonna kill her this time, and it's my fault." He gave another groan and lowered his head.

"Why Ron? And how can it possibly ben your fault?"

Ron answered through his fingers, explaining how his mother had been keeping Ginny hungry, how he had taken food up to her room only to find her missing, and how he had alerted the rest of the family.

"I've never seen mum so angry." he whispered through bloodless lips. "I think she would have broken Ginny's legs if she'd been there. She sent the rest of us out to look for her, then went up to her room to wait. If Ginny turns up, she's dead meat."

"I'm sure it won't be that bad, Ron, and besides, how is that your fault? Ginny was the one who snuck out."

Ron groaned again. "You didn't see mum. She's not going to let Ginny get away with it this time, there's gonna be trouble. And it's my fault because if I'd just kept it to myself then nobody would have even noticed she was gone."

"Don't you care that she snuck out again then?"

Ron shook his head. "No, I know she's just trying to cope with everything that's happened, she'll calm down eventually. It's mum who's throwing the wobblies."

Harry and Hermione shared a quick glance, knowing that Ron was wrong in his assumption that Ginny would calm down eventually. This seemed like a supremely poor time to mention it however, so instead Harry tried to change the subject.

"How come you didn't try here earlier? If you knew she was missing since dinner last night, surely you must have already looked elsewhere already. Didn't you think to try here sooner? One minute earlier and you might have caught her!"

Ron blanched slightly when he realized how little he had missed Ginny by. "No." he muttered. "I honestly didn't think she would be here. I mean, she hasn't been round in ages, why would she have suddenly turned up last night?" he asked, almost pleading them to understand his reasoning.

Harry nodded. From a rational perspective, it was unlikely that Ginny would have come to Grimauld Place last night, he knew.

"Well, if it's really as bad as you say it is, we should probably head over to the Burrow to make sure they aren't tearing each other to pieces." he said. "Ginny was going to apparate right into her room, so if you're mum's still there then there's no way she could have missed her."

Ron nodded, jumping to his feet. "You're right, what am I doing sitting around moaning? Will you guys come with me?" he asked, eyes flicking nervously between his two friends, remembering the less than stellar performance he had put in with Harry yesterday, as well as his recent break up with Hermione.

To his relief, both smiled warmly.

"We wouldn't let you face something as scary as an angry Mrs Weasley by yourself Ron. We'll be there."

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**As I said, next chapter will be a big one, with a major plot point. I'm excited, and a little scared, to see what you guys think of it. In the meantime, I hope this one was satisfying for you all.**

**I really don't like to beg for reviews, but there is no denying that I get a little psychological buzz when I see a new one pop up there, and it really does inspire me to write. It would mean a lot if you could take a couple of seconds to give me some feedback.**

**Thanks for reading**

**-TR**


	7. Chapter 7: All My Life I Gave for You

**Here we go… as promised. :S**

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Arriving in the Burrow, the trio were immediately aware that things were not good. Screams were echoing down the staircase, and not 10 seconds after their arrival, Ginny came barreling down into the living room. Ron grabbed her arm before she could reach the front door, and though she twisted in his grasp, his hold stayed firm.

Mrs Weasley appeared at the bottom of the stairs, and Harry and Hermione were shocked at her appearance. Her usually neat hair was haphazard and flyaway, her face was red and splotchy, and there was an almost feral snarl on her face. When she saw Ginny struggling against Ron, she grinned horribly. Harry and Hermione exchanged a glance, completely thrown by the appearance of a woman they considered to be the very embodiment of motherly affection and calm.

"Good work, Ron!" Mrs Weasley screeched. "Stop right there, Ginny!"

Molly hurried over to Ron and Ginny, before grabbing her distraught daughter away from her son. And then she slapped her as hard as she could.

Three cries of outrage met this action, and suddenly Mrs Weasley was facing three very angry teenagers, each of whom had a wand trained on her. Ginny wrenched free at last and, despite the fact that he had stopped her escaping earlier, hugged Ron around the waist as though her life depended on it. Ron patted her on the head, murmuring comforting words, while continuing to glare at his mother.

Molly Weasley was, for her part, swelling with fury. Finally, her anger broke, and she began screaming, not only at her daughter, but at the three people pointing wands at her as well.

"You ungrateful, vindictive bitch!" she screamed at the top of her voice, her wand shooting angry sparks towards Ginny. "Why do you do it? Why do enjoy causing us this hurt? You think you're the only person who matters in this family? Is that it?"

She seemed to be building up to something, and sure enough, after another minute of ranting about Ginny's selfishness, she let forth a crushing blow.

"I wish I'd never stopped Belatrix! I WISH YOU HAD DIED INSTEAD OF FRED!" she shrieked, her eyes rolling, looking quite mad.

After a ringing silence, Ginny gave a short gasp, and before anyone could stop her she had pulled free of Ron and fled out the front door. A sharp crack a second later indicated that she had disapparated. The four people left in the kitchen were left staring at each other in trepidation. It was a tense moment.

Then Molly gave a strangled sob, and collapsed to the ground.

"Mum!" Ron cried, and ran to her side. No matter what he, Harry or Hermione said, Molly continued to moan and sob on the floor. Eventually Ron waved his wand and levitated her towards the staircase, walking her up to her room and placing her on the bed.

By this time, Molly had stopped crying, and instead lay silently, staring up at the ceiling. It was a long time before she spoke again.

Ron walked back down the stairs, accompanied by Harry and Hermione. They sat on the couch together, saying nothing. When Ron broke the silence, he sounded like he had a bad cold.

"We have to try and find her." he stated.

Harry and Hermione exchanged yet another glance.

"Do you think so, Ron? I'm sure she'll turn up when she's calmed down. She always has before." Hermione said soothingly. But Ron just shook his head jerkily.

"No, this time is different. She might… She might hurt herself."

"You don't think she'd…" Hermione trailed off, sparing a look at Harry, who chose this moment to speak.

"No." he said roughly. "I know Ginny. I know her even better after last night. There's no way she'd be as weak as I was."

Ron and Hermione both started to protest his calling himself weak, but he waved them down impatiently. "That's not important. I think you're both right. I think Hermione's right in thinking she wouldn't resort to self-harm, but I think Ron's right when he says this is different to any other time she's run off, and we ought to try and find her."

Hermione and Ron both nodded.

"Where should we look first?" was Hermione's first question, directed towards Ron. He looked thoughtful for a moment.

"I think we should split up. I'll look in the same places I was trying last night: nightclubs in town. Harry, you go back to Grimauld and go through the place with a fine toothed comb. If you don't find her there, then move on to other order member's places. She was always close to Tonks, so it's possible she might even be with Andromeda and Teddy.

"Hermione, you go around to friend's places. Seamus, Dean, the Patils, all those. It shouldn't take you long to check each one, so just try and visit as many as you can.

"If you run out of places to look, or if you find her, send a Patronus to me with the message, and I'll send one back with my location, and you can join me there. Sound good?"

Hermione and Harry were both impressed with the leadership and planning qualities Ron was showing, and nodded. All three of them got up; Harry headed to the fireplace and immediately flooed to his home, while Ron and Hermione walked out the front door to disapparate beyond the wards.

When they reached the front gate, Hermione took Ron's arm and looked intently into his face.

"We'll find her Ron. Don't worry." she said with conviction, and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek before turning on the spot and disapparating away.

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Ron didn't have any luck until the fifth club he tried. It was a small and dingy establishment, whose main patronage seemed to be the hardcore crowd. Tattoos and leather seemed to be the main attire, and Ron wasn't feeling particularly confident that he would find out anything useful in such a place. Still, the more promising places he already tried had come up empty, so perhaps a change of strategy would garner better results.

After a brief wait in line, in which he attracted much attention for his long wizard robes and lack of eyebrow piercings, he was allowed into the club proper. He immediately made his way to the bar, where he received more glances from the heavily tattooed and pierced bartender.

"What can I get ya, luv?" she asked him, a small smile of amusement lifting the corners of her mouth. Ron had no time to feel embarrassed at the moment though, and got straight to the point.

"I was wondering if you could help me find someone. A girl, little bit younger than me. Long red hair, same color as mine. Name of Ginny."

The bartender looked him up and down a couple of times before nodding. "If I couldn't tell just by looking at you that you're related, then I'd say no, 'cause it's a bit creepy to be following some girl around otherwise. She was in here about two hours ago, but that's all I can tell you. If you want some more info, I recommend talking to Leo over there." she said, pointing out a tall, painfully thin, shabby looking man with a pointed face and small beard who was sitting at a table in the very corner of the club. "She was chatting to him for a while."

Ron thanked her profusely, and made his way over to the strange man. Had it been any other situation, he would have been furious to know that Ginny was fraternizing with such unsavory characters, but with his anxiety at an all-time high, all he could feel was hope that the man could help him.

Leo looked up in fright when Ron made himself known, but relaxed when he took the newcomer's appearance.

"Jesus, mate. Don't sneak up on a bloke like tha'!" he exclaimed in a thick cockney accent. "Never know 'oo might be sneaking up on po' ol' Leo."

"Sorry." said Ron impatiently. "Listen, the bartender said you could help me."

Leo raised his eyebrows, a pointy toothed smile breaking out on his face. "Did she now? Bless 'er. You lookin' ter buy some stuff, then?"

"What?" asked Ron.

"You wan' sum product, yeah? Why else you's lookin' for Leo?" he asked in voice that clearly said he thought Ron was slow in the head.

"Oh! No! No I don't want any product. The bartender said she saw you talking to my sister earlier. I wanted to know if you knew where she is or where she went."

Leo leaned back in his chair, apparently disappointed in Ron's motives for speaking to him. "Yeah, I mighta seen 'er. Ginger nut like you, wern' she?"

"Yeah, same hair."

"Yeah she bough' some stuff off of me couple hours 'go. Poor sod looked li' she wan'ed ta ge' well wasted." he added, not looking very sorry at all.

A cold ball of dread was growing in the pit of Ron's stomach, but he forced himself to speak calmly for a little longer.

"You say she bought some product off you? What do you mean?"

Leo was looking at him strangely. "You neva bin to a club afore, sonny?"

"What?" said Ron again, wishing he had something else to say.

Leo sighed. "Drugs, man!" he exclaimed. "Product is drugs! Yer little sister bough' drugs off me!"

Ron went cold.

"No." he whispered in a voice laced with fear.

"No my arse! Bough' a bunch o' heroin, din she?"

"Heroin?" Ron asked, unfamiliar with the word.

"Fokin' 'ell mate! Slow aint ya? Herion! Smack! Dope! Junk! All that good shit!"

Ron forced himself to stay calm for a little longer, he needed more information. "Is it bad for you?" he managed to croak.

Leo was now apparently convinced that Ron suffered from arrested development disorder. He snorted. "Fok yeah it is! Kill ya if ya ought careful."

Ron snapped. In one swift movement he had Leo slammed against the wall, fist at his throat, and his own furious face just inches from Leo's. The poor drug dealer struggled and squirmed, gasping for breath.

"Oi, whatcha fink you's doin'?" he yelled.

"YOU SOLD MY BABY SISTER DRUGS THAT COULD KILL HER?" Ron screamed, totally beyond reason. Both participants of the dispute were unaware that the band had stopped playing, and most of the club's occupants had stopped to watch the disagreement. Near the back of the crowd a pair of bouncers struggled to push through the throng.

"Mate! She was fockin cryin' and shi'! She jus' waned ta have a good nigh', thas all!"

"SHE'S SIXTEEN YOU MOTHERFUCKER!" Ron continued to scream. He was quite mad now, and knew only one thing for certain: he was going to kill the man in front of him. One bloke at the back of the pub yelled out.

"Smash the rat's filthy face in ginge'!" A few people shouted out in agreement, and before long a chant had gone up.

"SMASH HIM! SMASH HIM! SMASH HIM!"

The bass player of the band started up a beat, drawing the crowd into an even greater frenzy. Ron was tempted to pull out his wand and blast the cringing piece of filth into a thousand pieces, no matter that he was in a room full of Muggles.

Despite the insanity that had taken hold of him, he was strangely reminded of just how similar his position was to that of Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew, all those years ago.

Ron plunged his hand into his robes, but before he could even grasp his wand's handle, he was seized roughly from behind. The two bouncers had finally made it to him, and together they half carried, half dragged him to the fire exit. Before they threw him through the door, Ron heard the bartender speak.

"You really ought to stop selling that shit to underage girls, Leo."

"Fuckin' oath…" came the reply.

As soon as he landed, Ron leapt back to his feet, but the few seconds had given him a chance to think, and instead of charging back into the club, wand drawn, he instead decided to focus on what was actually important: finding Ginny.

Leo would get his in due time.

He walked hurriedly along the alleyway for a little bit, until he was quite sure he was out of sight of any Muggles. He then drew his wand and conjured his Patronus. The little terrier burst from his wand and gamboled about him for a few seconds.

"Harry and Hermione, meet me at the entrance to King's Cross Station. Hurry." he told it urgently. Then he waved his wand and the terrier split into two, which disappeared in different directions. Ron then turned on the spot, disapparating away to King's Cross.

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Harry was just leaving Andromeda Tonks place, after determining that Ginny was indeed not there. After a quick hello to Teddy he walked outside and prepared to apparate elsewhere, when a Patronus he recognized immediately as Ron's terrier flew up to him and spoke in Ron's voice.

"Meet me at the entrance to King's Cross Station. Hurry."

Before the Patronus had even begun to fade away, Harry had turned on the spot.

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"Come on Hermione, I'm sure Ginny's fine, stay and have a beer with us."

"For the last time, Seamus. NO!"

Seamus made to speak again, but stopped before uttering even a word as a Patronus swooped in through his window.

"Meet me at the entrance to King's Cross Station. Hurry." It said to Hermione in Ron's voice. Before Seamus could ask what that was all about, Hermione turned on the spot and vanished.

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Ron's breath frosted in front of him in the cold night air of King's Cross. He looked around, waiting for his friends to appear.

He didn't have to wait long, Harry was the first, appearing just fifteen meters to his left. Hermione followed seconds later, appearing totally silently into the night. They walked towards him, questioning looks on their faces. As soon as they reached him, Ron launched into an explanation of what had happened in the club, ignoring their gasps and Hermione's indignant cry of "RON!" when he described how he had tried to pull out his wand in a crowded Muggle club.

When he had finished, there was a very ugly look on Harry's face.

"Okay, so we find Ginny. We take her home and make sure she's okay. Then we go back to the club and kill that bastard." he said in a dangerously matter-of-fact voice.

Ron was expecting Hermione to exclaim at Harry's murderous intent, but when he looked at her, she was nodding slightly. Despite himself, Ron grinned.

"So where do we go from here?" Hermione asked.

Ron snapped his fingers. "Hermione, that point me spell you taught Harry back in fourth year, could you key that in to point you towards Ginny?"

Hermione bit her lip, thinking quickly. "I'm sorry Ron, but I don't think so. If it were that easy to find someone then Voldemort would've just used it to find Harry last year, rather than relying on the name taboo, wouldn't he?"

Ron shoulders slumped. "Yeah, of course." Still, he looked at her hopefully, clearly expecting her to produce another brilliant idea such as he was used to. Unfortunately, despite thinking harder than she had ever thought in her life, Hermione was having no luck.

Suddenly, Harry spoke.

"I think I might know where she is." he said in a funny voice.

"Really! Where?" was Ron's urgent reply.

Harry held out his hand to his two friends and they took it nervously, feeling the familiar constricting feeling as they disappeared into nothingness.

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Hogwarts loomed out of the darkness, the familiar shape marred by the massive damages done during the battle which had not yet been repaired.

Ron and Hermione looked curiously at Harry, wondering why he thought Ginny would be at Hogwarts, but his face was a mask. The moonlight glinted briefly off of him, throwing his features into sharper relief, and his friends felt a jolt of anxiety when they saw the expression he wore.

Without speaking, Harry took off at jog up the Hogwarts drive, Ron and Hermione following.

Harry picked up speed when he reached the lake edge, curving around towards the woods. His heart compressed painfully when he saw the beech tree he had spent many happy hours under with Ron, Hermione… and Ginny.

And then he was running, and he was no longer seventeen but twelve, and sprinting along an ancient chamber towards a motionless body, while the monkey like face of Salazar Slytherin glared down upon him.

He reached her and fell to his knees, but even as he took her cold hand in his, Harry knew that this was no memory.

Ginny Weasley looked much as she had all those years ago. Pale and small and so, so cold.

"Ginny! Ginny don't be dead, please don't be dead!"

_'She won't wake_' said a little voice in the back of his head, and Harry knew it was true. Dimly he was aware of Ron collapsing to his knees beside him. Dimly he was aware of him shaking her, yelling her name.

Ginny's head lolled limply on her shoulders, her wide eyes staring unseeingly up at them. A tiny trickle of blood ran out the side of the mouth, and Harry remembered the spiral of smoke which had done the same thing last night.

Or had it been a thousand years ago?

Ginny Weasley was dead, all the evidence was in front of him, but somehow he couldn't accept it as truth. He remembered how he had felt when Sirius had died, as well as Dumbledore. There was no question about it; this was much, much worse.

There was no anger, no irrational desire to _do _something about the situation as there had been in the past. There was just death, and cold, and the gentle sigh of the wind though the beech tree's branches. There was no hope, there was nothing left to fight for.

What had he thought of her last night? Always strong. Always fighting. How could it be that the strongest of them all was the first to leave? He noticed, vaguely, the syringe that lay next to her, and the small trail of blood that ran down her arm, beginning in the crook of her elbow. It seemed somehow obscene, and Harry found himself wondering how someone proud, and brave, and beautiful like Ginny Weasley had been brought down through the actions of scum like Leo. There was no poetic beauty to it, no sacrifice that could be written about with pride and honor. There was only a dirty paper bag, a syringe and a body.

And the terrible, irrefutable fact that Ginny Weasley was dead.

Dead.

Sound returned all at once, as Ron screamed. It was a scream of such broken disbelief, such pain and guilt, that it almost made Harry cry out himself just from the sound of it. Ron staggered to his feet and lurched towards the lake shore, where he retched and heaved, his body convulsing.

When he returned, there was no expression on his face. He simply collapsed next to Ginny's body and drew it onto his lap, cradling it with tenderness and care befitting a newborn. Rocking back and forth, he pressed his face against her hair, once so bright and vibrant, now lank and dead looking, and began to sob softly.

Hermione stood as well, her face a tableau of pain and grief. She fell back down when she reached Harry's side and buried her face in his chest. Finally she succumbed to the tears, and heaved with wretched sobs into his robes.

Harry sat unfeelingly, his hand still gripping Ginny's, staring across the dark waters of the lake. He felt something brush against his hand, and looked down. A scrap of paper was poking out of Ginny's grip. Gently, he prized her hand open and removed it. He stared at the note, reading the words her living hand had written there, even as her life had ebbed away.

_All my life; I gave for you._

Harry felt his soul being crushed into powder as the words leapt from the page at him, dragging him back down, down into darkness with their meaning… And then he was broken inside, and how could there be hope, how could there be anything left to fix, as yet another part of himself was torn into nothingness?

How could it be that he was responsible, again, for the death of a friend?

_How did it come to this?_

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**I hated writing this, I'm actually angry at myself for doing that to Ginny.**

**Goddamn it I need a drink.**

**-TR**

**P.S. Cheers for the feedback, means a lot. There might be a little longer between the next couple of updates, as I'm currently away from home, but I'll do my best to get them up ASAP.**


	8. Chapter 8: Cold Revenge

**Sorry about not updating yesterday, Friday night footy was on down here in Australia, and I couldn't miss it. (My team won so I think it was justified :P) **

**This chapter is a lot darker than anything else I've written (which after last chapter is kind of saying a lot). This is a bit OoC, but considering what they've been through I don't think it's too much of a stretch to imagine them acting like this.**

**I just realized I've been putting the wrong ages in for my characters. Ron, Hermione and Harry should all be 18, not 17, and Ginny is 17, not 16. I'll be going through the old chapters and changing it where needed, but if I miss one then just try to ignore it. The story takes place around the first August after the Battle of Hogwarts, so Harry has just turned 18.**

**With that out of the way, read on!**

**Battle of Hogwarts Hero Dead by Own Hand.**

_Ginevra Molly Weasley, youngest child of prominent pure-blood family the Weasleys and hero of the Final Battle against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, was found dead yesterday in the grounds of Hogwarts school of Witchraft and Wizardry, writes special correspondent Rita Skeeta._

_Miss Weasley, 17, of Ottery St Catchpole, was known to have been on a downward trend these last months due to trauma brought on by participation in the Second Wizarding War. Details are sketchy surrounding the death, but authorities say early evidence points to a deliberate overdose of the Muggle drug Heroin to be the leading cause. A note found with the body indicated the death was pre-meditated suicide._

_Miss Weasley is reported to have been discovered by close friends Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, as well as by elder brother Ronald Weasley. Harry Potter, known widely as the Chosen One and savior of the wizarding world, a former boyfriend of Miss Weasley, was unavailable for comment today. Reliable sources close to the young hero however indicated that his mental state is not good, and that he is being closely monitored for possible tendencies towards self-harm._

_Muriel Prewitt, a close relative of Miss Weasley, had this to say of the teenager's demise._

_"If I told Molly once, I told her a thousand times; you can't trust silly children to run around trying to save the world. Ginny was always a stroppy little blighter, and I'm afraid it was a lack of discipline that allowed the rot to go this deep. If she had been _my _daughter, you can be darn sure there would have no partying or boys involved in her life, and she'd probably be alive today."_

_Ms Prewitt's comments, while harsh, have garnered support from various prominent members of the magical community. Bromhilda Maricky, of the Dark Force Defense League, summed the issue up thusly._

_"This just proves what a calamitous mistake it was for certain families to allow their children to become so deeply involved, not only in the war, but in the life of Harry Potter, who has proved time and time again that he cannot be trusted with the safety of others, no matter his heroic credentials. While I admit to being absent from the Final Battle at Hogwarts myself, I nevertheless firmly maintain that the war effort was in the main successful thanks to the actions of myself and other experienced Dark Defenders; rather than the children whom the media has taken upon itself to glorify."_

_Professor Minerva McGonagall, transfiguration professor at Hogwarts and the person tipped as most likely to succeed Severous Snape as Headmistress, offered a dissenting opinion. _

_"I find the comments from various individuals to be both grossly misinformed and hideously inaccurate. Ginny Weasley proved through her actions in the Final Battle that she was made of far sterner stuff than most self-styled 'Dark Defenders', and any petty attempts to demean her character and sacrifice should be met with scorn and ridicule. I for one will let this tragedy tarnish the image of neither Miss Weasley nor any of her loved ones."_

_Whatever the truth, there is no denying that the death has hit hard a wizarding community that had thought itself finally safe from such tragedies. Some individuals have even called out the apparent ability of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to strike from beyond the grave, leading to speculation that his influence may as yet still be among us. _

_Be sure to keep up to date with the news of the day as more details on this terrible tragedy become available._

Hermione threw the newspaper onto the kitchen table, wondering how it was possible that she now felt worse than before. The words of Muriel and Maricky haunted her, despite her best efforts to banish them from her mind. She turned towards the boy who sat at the table with her.

They were alone in the vast and silent kitchen of the Burrow. The Weasleys were all inside, but for all intents and purposes the house appeared empty, as not a single floorboard creaked nor voice echoed within.

Harry, Ron and Hermione had spent the entire day immediately after discovering Ginny, in the grounds of Hogwarts, simply trying to fathom the magnitude of what had happened. Finally, as the sun had begun to set once more, Hermione had wordlessly pulled the others to their feet, and apparated all four of them back to the Burrow.

Hermione closed her eyes, desperately trying to forget the memories of what had come after, but finding them burned into her brain nevertheless.

She remembered how as soon as they had arrived Ron toppled to his knees again, Ginny still in his arms. Harry stood, but he stared forward unseeingly, and nothing she said or did could get him to acknowledge her presence or aid her in the horrific task she knew was ahead.

And so Hermione Granger, all alone, walked to the Burrow's front door, and knocked. She remembered the worried face of Arthur Weasley answering. Remembered the half spoken question that died on his lips as he had looked past her to the motionless boys who knelt and stood behind her. If she had not seen it with her own eyes, she wouldn't have believed someone's face could hold such horror and fear as Mr Weasley's had that day.

As he ran to his son's side, Hermione staggered and fell against the door frame, totally drained. She hadn't said a word, nor taken more than a few steps, but still the effort involved to be the bearer of such news took a terrible toll on her. That was where Percy found her. For a moment he was confused, calling her name in concern, but then he too spied the scene in the front yard, and sprinted towards it without sparing her a second glance.

One by one the Weasley's discovered the scene, and the look on each one's face as they passed her by caused a little more of Hermione soul to die.

Before long the entire family was outside, with one notable exception. Molly Weasley had shown hide nor hair outside the Burrow, and Hermione wondered whether she even knew yet that her youngest child was dead and that it was, in the main, her own fault.

Hermione was not fool enough to think that this could be overcome. She knew there was no way Molly Weasley would ever recover, and found herself wondering dully whether there would be another suicide in the family before long. Such thoughts would once have been abhorrent to her, but Ginny's death had changed something within them all, and Hermione could no longer bring herself to think cheerfully or hopefully in a world that no longer contained the little dynamo.

She wasn't sure how long she lay there against the doorframe, but eventually the Weasley's ventured back inside, Ginny still cradled in Ron's arms. Harry followed them, picking Hermione up as he passed and carrying her inside as well. Together, they sat in the lounge room with the Weasleys. Once upon a time, they might have felt strange for sitting there, intruding upon the family grief, as they had when Arthur had been attacked. Now however, it felt entirely natural, and neither of them thought to go elsewhere.

Eventually, someone spoke, she could not remember whom. They couldn't just sit there, the voice told them. It said many uncomfortable things that they all recognized as true, no matter how much they wanted to simply sit and stare at the girl who had meant so much to them all.

Finally they began to move. Someone took Ginny from Ron who, despite their fears, did not protest. He didn't even react; he simply stood, arms held limply by his sides, as his burden was taken from him. It fell to Bill and Arthur to tell Mrs Weasley of what had happened, while Percy and Charlie saw to Ginny's body.

Harry and Hermione moved to their friend, still standing in the middle of the room. He stared at them for a long time, a lost expression on his face. It was Harry who spoke first, and it was Harry who finally broke through Ron's reverie.

"We're leaving mate" he said, voice harsh. "Leo is going to die. Come on."

Ron's head snapped up at the words, his shoulders straightening. A feral look came over his face, and he stared at Harry with eyes that were no longer pits of woe and pain, but hard chips of ice, the sight of which sent a shiver down Hermione's spine. Without a further word, both boys had turned and swept from the room, leaving Hermione to dither on the spot, torn between aiding them, leaving them to their own devices and trying to stop them.

Eventually, years of being a stickler for the rules won, and Hermione dashed into the yard after them, stopping them just as they began to turn on the spot.

"Wait!" she cried, and to her surprise, they did.

"What is it, Hermione?" asked Harry, in a voice very unlike his own.

"I-I know what that… that _man _did, and I know every fiber of me wants to see him punished, but I don't want you to end up in Azkaban… just for him." She directed the last three words at Harry, hoping to remind him of what he had said to Remus and Sirius when they had been about to kill Pettigrew back in third year.

Unfortunately, Harry was not in any mood to have the current situation compared with events that had occurred long ago. He turned back to his other friend, while addressing Hermione.

"I'll only say this once Hermione. Ron and I are going to kill someone tonight. You're welcome to come along, but if you won't, then you _will_ stay out of our way." He looked intently into her eyes, and Hermione knew there was no way to convince them otherwise. In some strange way, she was happy about that.

All she could do now was to try and keep them out of trouble.

"I'm coming. Just give me one thing. I want to stop somewhere first, I have an idea."

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Leo Smeltz breathed deeply the chill, rank smelling air outside the club, before taking a long drag on his cigarette. He had always loved the smell of the city. Some people thought it dirty, unhealthy and unpleasant, but to Leo it smelt like _life. _Sick and diseased life yes, but then his own life was quite sick and diseased as well so in a way it was quite fitting.

He took another drag on the cigarette. The first few days after his confrontation with the ginger nut-job, he had refrained from taking his regular breaks outside the club to fill his lungs with nicotine. Unfortunately this had made him irritable and unpleasant (more than normal) and his friend Millie the bartender had ordered him to begin taking them again.

The first few times he had finished quickly and rushed back inside, but now he was beginning to relax. It was two days since ginge' had nearly throttled him, and he was starting to doubt the boy would ever come back.

He reflected briefly on that night. In all his years of dealing the harder drugs, he had seen a lot of insanity, but the rage in that boy's eyes had all but made him wet his pants in terror. He was sure the kid hadn't been finished with him, and wondered vaguely why he had not come back to finish what he started.

In all his musings on his own safety, he never once spared a thought for the wellbeing of the girl who had brought the boys wrath down upon him.

But then, Leo Smeltz was not known as a scrupulous man.

His cigarette now burned down to the butt, Leo threw the glowing tip to the ground. Before he had even turned to leave however, a heavy blow struck him in the back of the head, and he fainted dead away.

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"Wake up."

…

…

"I said, WAKE! UP!"

A clunk, a yell of fright, and then Leo was blinking in sudden light, as what looked like a tiny glowing sun appeared in the middle of the room he found himself in.

A familiar red-headed boy lowered what looked like a shiny cigarette lighter, and Leo felt his stomach disappear to the region of his shoes as he recognized the young man.

Well, at least he had his will written up.

"I take it by the fact that you look like you just pissed yourself, that you know why you're here." came another voice, and Leo whipped around, surprised. A girl was standing to his side and slightly behind him. If he hadn't been in this predicament, he might have made a lewd suggestion considering her looks, but the expression on her face told him any such behavior would be dealt with… severely. Instead, he tried to be polite.

"Look Miss, I dunno wha' you friend's been telling you, bu' I din' mean to 'arm to no-one, God's hones' trufe!"

"What you meant to happen and what actually occurred are mutually exclusive things, Leo."

Another voice. Leo didn't get such a shock this time, but still he craned his neck to see who had made the noise. Tall, thin, black hair; the boy staring at him with startlingly green eyes looked like a corpse brought to life, and Leo found himself becoming even more scared.

He examined the boy further, wondering what it is about him that unnerved him so. Perhaps in daylight, amongst friends, the boy would have been considered handsome, what with that thick hair and those striking eyes. At the moment though, his skin looked stretched, waxy and sick. His eyes burned with malevolence and his bloodless lips were drawn back in a macabre parody of a grin.

Leo gulped.

The red-headed kid spoke again. His voice was jerky and forced, as though he was holding himself back from being far more expressive.

"Did you know my sisters name, Leo?"

The question took him by surprise. He had assumed this was the reason he was in this strange room, but to hear it confirmed only increased the dread he felt. Surely their actions indicated that something had gone terribly wrong, and Leo fancied he could hazard a guess what it was.

"N-no. She was jus' a customer, man. I don' ge' on firs' name terms wiff me customers."

He had said the wrong thing. The ginger's hand darted out, and Leo felt his nose break under the palm. He howled in pain and dropped his head, hoping to avoid further blows. But none came. Eventually he raised his head, to find himself staring into the kid's eyes. With a strange jolt, he remembered that his sister had had eyes just like them. He looked away hurriedly.

"My sister, was Ginevra Molly Weasley. She was 17, beautiful, intelligent and kind. She was not 'just a customer' Leo. Do you understand that?"

"Y-yes." Leo stammered tearfully.

"I'm glad, or else I would have had to do something like this." the kid said, and suddenly Leo was in agony. He couldn't understand where the pain had come from, but it was of such a magnitude he didn't really care, as long as it stopped. Every nerve in his body was on fire, and he heard himself screaming unceasingly.

When the pain finally stopped, he had expected to hear laughter. He had expected them to gloat in their torture, to enjoy what they were doing.

But there was nothing. Eventually he found the strength to look up again, and saw that the boy was sitting, head in hands, while sobs wracked his body. He wondered, bizarrely, whether the kid had suffered the same agony he had, but realized it wasn't possible, as neither of his friends showed any sign of pain or concern.

Having never experienced the feeling known as empathy for himself, Leo could not fathom the fact that Ron Weasley was suffering from the guilt of causing such pain to another human. Despite what he had lost, Ron was not yet a monster.

Unfortunately for Leo, that was not entirely true of the other boy in the room. As the girl moved to the red-head's side, he moved instead to stand imposingly in front of Leo, who looked up at him in trepidation.

The boy was fingering a slender piece of wood, touching it idly, almost lovingly. Leo had better things to do than wonder at this strange behavior however, and was more preoccupied with the vicious look on the boy's face. He flinched when he spoke in a toneless, dead voice.

"Do you know what happened two nights ago, Leo?"

"I sold drugs to that Gin-vra chick. She dead?" he answered in a defeated voice. There was no point lying, or trying to feign ignorance, but he still couldn't bring himself to inject his voice with concern for the girl.

He half expected another blow, but the boy just nodded solemnly.

"Yes, Leo, she is." His gaze hardened. "You killed her Leo. She was brave, and smart, and funny, and loyal… and you killed her. She was every great quality I care to mention, plus more, and yet she's dead. Because of you. Does that seem fair to you?" he asked, almost conversationally.

Leo started babbling, he could see where the conversation was headed. "Please man, don' kill meh! I swear, I'll do anyfing you say. I'll stop wiff tha smack, I'll give you all tha profits. Anyfing man, jus' don' kill meh!"

The boy just smiled. It was a grotesque sight.

"Don't try that Leo, it's unbecoming of you. Rest assured, I am not going to kill you." Leo looked up, scarcely able to believe what he was hearing. The boy continued.

"Oh I would love to. I would love to watch the life leave you, take comfort in its occurrence. Unfortunately, your life is worth so little in comparison to hers that killing you really wouldn't mean anything to me. I don't plan on going to Askaban for the meagre satisfaction your death would bring.

"But there is something I am going to do to you Leo. An experiment, if you will. You see, I have a little wager going with my friend here." he said, indicating the girl. "She doesn't think you could possibly possess a soul, to have done what you did to our friend. I think she's wrong. I think you do, somewhere down there. There is a way to settle our disagreement; do you know what it is?"

Leo had never been less sure of anything in his life. Still, his breathing had eased, and his heartbeat was not thundering in his ears anymore.

The kids were not going to kill him. They just wanted to know if he had a soul. Leo didn't have time to wonder at their eccentricities, but still, determining the presence, or lack thereof of his soul could hardly involve anything too terrible. He just shook his head in response to the kid's question.

There was an evil grin on his face that Leo didn't like when he answered. "Well then, we'll have to show you firsthand then, won't we? Hermione!" he said, calling to the girl. She stood and walked towards them, holding in her hand a small beaded bag, which she placed on the ground in front of Leo. The drug dealer noticed how disproportionately loud the noise it made as she sat it down was compared to its size. He was now thoroughly confused.

"Hermione, Ron and I have been on a little excursion these last few hours." the boy was speaking again. "We took a little jaunt up to the North Sea, where we met an old acquaintance of ours. He was more than willing to assist in our endeavor when the circumstances were explained. Would you like to meet our friend, Leo?"

Leo was still trying to understand how they could possibly have been on a trip to the North Sea and back again in just a few hours when the boy posed the question. He couldn't imagine that this 'friend' would be anyone helpful to him, so once again he shook his head. The boy grinned again, his eyes dancing wickedly.

"Hermione, I believe our friend has been cooped up for too long, let him meet Leo here, see what he can dig up."

The girl bent over the little bag, fiddling with the clasp.

And then everything went cold.

The little sun seemed to dim, and finally spluttered out entirely. The cold was intense. It chilled Leo down to his core, and suddenly he was surrounded by whispered voices, half remembered conversations: the worst moments of his life. He twitched and jerked against his bonds, but was too terrified by what was happening to even try and make sense of it. Just as he thought his panic could not go higher, an appalling sound filled the air.

A terrible, rattling breath. Leo felt it tear at the air, and he knew, instinctively, that whatever it was was after him. The breathing continued, reminding Leo strongly of a school friend he once visited in hospital who had been on his death bed. The man had breathed just like that, as though each breath was agony, as though he was determined to suck _something _out of the air with each terrible gasp. Leo had been scared of his old friend that day, but that was nothing compared to the unmitigated horror this noise now filled him with.

Hands suddenly grasped his face, and Leo found his voice. He screamed, a cry of pure terror that actually hurt his throat on the way out. He knew the hands did not belong to the red-headed boy, or the girl named Hermione. They weren't even of the corpse faced kid with the poisonous green eyes.

They were scabbed and slimy. Long fingered and oh so strong. He fought with all his might against their grip, but felt them draw his face slowly forwards despite his efforts. Leo managed to choke out a sob, but as his mouth opened, he felt something clamp onto his jaws.

Of all the horrific things that had happened to Leo Smeltz that night, nothing compared with the sheer terror of an unknown entity clamping itself to his face. He supposed it must have been a mouth, but any person who ever owned a mouth such as this could not have been of this world. Whatever it was breathed again, and Leo felt his insides freeze as its rattling breath drew all the warmth from him.

No, not quite all.

One tiny spot of heat was moving inside him. It started in his chest, over his heart, and Leo felt momentarily relieved to feel its comforting warmth inside him. But then it started, slowly but inexorably to move, and Leo knew, though he knew not how, that if it left him he was lost. He struggled and fought, thrashing against the mouth; the hands; his bonds. But now the little spot was at his Adams apple, moving ever upwards.

He screamed into the creature's mouth.

It was the last sound Leo Smeltz ever made.

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**Wow… After last chapter I was planning on having a couple of quiet one's, but this just ended up happening… It's definitely the darkest stuff I've written I think, I hope I didn't turn any of you off the story with this… :S**

**Obviously the creature was a Dementor, which they had convinced to take a ride in Hermione's bag with the undetectable extension charm… sneaky.**

**At first I was just going to have the three of them kill Leo, but halfway through the chapter this idea came to me. I know it's a bit macabre and definitely not something you would expect our heroes to do, but I felt there was a certain poetic justice to it. I should probably mention I don't condone their actions... but then again the world is probably a better place without people like Leo in it...**

**Let me know if you think their actions were justifiable or not, I'm curious.**

**-TR**


	9. Chapter 9: What Has Been Done

**As I expected, the reception for my little Dementor stunt was not all that good. Rest assured, I have something planned, and I'm not just going to have them moving on from it just like that. **

**As was inevitable, here is the funeral chapter. Next chapter will have something quite interesting in it, I believe.**

**Read on!**

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She couldn't get the terrible sound of Leo's screams out of her head.

Hermione took a deep shuddering breath, willing the terrible sound to abate. But it didn't. She hadn't slept a wink the night before, and she was beginning to doubt she would ever have a night in which she was not haunted by the terrible thing that they had done.

She looked at Harry, who looked back at her. His skin was pale and stretched, but no longer had the dead look that had come over it that night. She had been scared then; she could not deny, by the person Harry had become. His eyes had been alive with malice, and she knew that some baser, more primal part of his psyche had taken over.

She almost wished it would again.

Harry's eyes were not dancing, such as they had the day after their truth or dare game; they were not even shining with fury. They were dead, unlit and unemotional. Just as they had been when she had caught him with the wand. The sight almost broke her. She had been so hopeful, just after Ginny had left. Harry and she had shared something special, his eyes were dancing again, and suddenly the future had seemed just a little less bleak. He had even said as much himself.

She couldn't help but feel a little angry with Ginny for ruining all that.

The afternoon wore on, and still Harry and Hermione looked at each other. No-one else entered except for George, who walked in briefly around dinner time, looked around in confusion and then shook his head and walked back out again.

Eventually the sky outside grew dark, and the air chilled. When at last Hermione could stand it no longer, she rose from her seat and walked from the room without a word, leaving Harry all alone in the darkness.

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Harry sat for some time after Hermione left, his mind hazy. Finally, he too rose, his cramped muscles protesting painfully, and walked towards the staircase. He had been staying in Ron's room since the night it had happened, and that's where he was headed once more.

As he walked up the staircase, he paused in front of Ginny's room. It looked for all the world like it had when she had drawn him inside that day before Bill and Fleur's wedding. He couldn't quite fathom how he felt about it now. It was a harsh reminder that she had once existed, but it was the location of the last truly happy memory he had of her, back when he still believed he loved her, and even had dared to hope they could one day be together.

It had been a delusion; a fantasy. But still, it had been a pleasant one. After Hermione had kissed him, and he and Ginny had had that little chat, he had been ready to try and move on. He was still a broken and depressed man, but Hermione had proved that she loved him unequivocally, no matter what stupid things he decided to do. He was hopeful that things could get better. He had thought Ginny might have been a complication, her jealously a roadblock, but she had spoken to him with an eloquence and understanding unlike anyone else, and he was reassured.

Now, Hermione couldn't speak to him, and Ginny was dead.

So was he, really. Inside.

Harry's life hadn't exactly been easy or comfortable, but even he was surprised by the ferocity with which fate had struck down his hope.

A sob startled him out of his reverie. He stared at door, and for one glorious second, he thought it was Ginny he had heard; that Ginny had just been lurking, all this time, in her room. The he heard it again, and for the first time in his life he found himself unhappy at recognizing Hermione's voice.

He dithered on the landing for a moment, fraught with indecision. He almost walked on, leaving Hermione to her grief, but he knew, deep down, that if it had been her out here listening to him, she would have come in.

He opened to door, slowly, quietly. Hermione was an indistinct shape curled up on the bed. Harry walked towards her slowly, unsure of what he was even going to say or do. When he reached her, he realized with a start that she wasn't lying in bed awake and sobbing, but dreaming.

She was muttering indistinctly, but Harry thought he caught words such as "sorry" and "terrible" amongst the babbling. He sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, and put his hand on her cheek. In her sleep, she flinched at the touch, a frown creasing her feature.

"Nooo." She moaned. Harry tensed at the words, realizing that she was reacting to him. "He's not evil… deserved it…" she sounded as though she were trying desperately to convince someone of something, and Harry thought he knew what it was.

"Ginny… Dementor…. Shouldn't have… evil… he's not…" her voice faded away, her breathing fitful. Harry's heart was constricting painfully in his chest. He wanted nothing more than to leave, to try and forget the words she had said, to forget that Hermione Granger thought him evil.

In another time perhaps, a gentler time, Harry would have stayed. He would have woken her, and they would have talked. They would have comforted one another, and in the gloom, perhaps they would have found peace. But this was a here and now in which he no longer knew himself, and instead or reaching out and taking Hermione's hand in his, Harry Potter rose, and walked from the room, the weight of the world crushing him with every step.

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The day of the funeral dawned bright and cheerful, golden sunlight gleamed over the picturesque fields and woods of Ottery St Catchpole, and glinted off the little party that sat in the small churchyard.

Apart from Harry, Ron and Hermione, as well as the rest of the Weasley family, there were quite a few attendees. The Longbottoms and the Lovegoods were there, as was Dean Thomas and Seaums Finnegan, the latter of whom was looking intensely uncomfortable thanks to the tactless way he had handled Hermione during her search for Ginny. Still, he was there, and no-one was making any mention of such inconsequential acts. Many of the Order had come as well, and of course Hagrid was sitting in the back, dwarfing all those around him and sending the birds to flight with his trumpeting sobs. Apart from these people, the chairs were taken up by ministry officials, the press and even some random members of the public who stood on the outer. Harry frowned at them, none of these people knew Ginny, so why were they here?

The coffin was a simple affair. White painted Oak, with a simple gold border, it glinted in the sunlight, half obscured though it was in tributes and wreathes.

The same little minister that had presided over Dumbledore's funeral and Bill and Fleur's wedding had been going lead the occasion but Harry, remembering the overly formal, stale way he had handled Dumbledore's send off, had insisted on someone else. Hence, Kingsley Shakelbolt stood next to the casket, dressed in dark purple robes. His powerful, sonorous voice washed over the attendees, evoking the feeling of heroism and bravery that Harry, Ron and Hermione had been so determined to impress on the mourners. It was, in Harry's opinion, quite adequate.

"Of all the families to have fought tooth and nail against the threat of Lord Voldemort, few have struggled as courageously, or lost so much, as the Weasleys." Began Kinglsey, in ringing tones. "Much has been said about Ginny Weasley, but there can be no denying the fact that her sacrifice was just as poignant, just as meaningful, and just as attributable to the Dark Forces as that of her brothers, her parents, and the hundreds of others who battled with her.

"A girl who was brave, loyal, and true, who espoused the greatest qualities of Godric Gryffindor has been lost to us. She laid down her life to rid the world of darkness, and she paid the ultimate sacrifice for her selflessness.

"War affects us all differently; some of us fight and move on. Some of us become mired in the darkness and slip beneath the waves of our own consciousness. And still others embrace the sacrifice they made, embrace the duty the world called for them to take up, and embrace the pain that must come after. Ginny Weasley embraced all that she was thrust into and, despite her age, handled the aftermath with a maturity and a presence of mind that few of us could emulate. She summed up her life in the most simple of ways, all the more poignant for their simplicity:

_"'All my life; I gave for you.' _Ginny gave her life for us all, as so many others did. She gave it willingly, unflinchingly, and we should all be beyond thankful to her, for surely we do not deserve the sacrifice she laid so willingly at our feet.

"Thank you Ginny."

Harry had never heard Kingsley's voice as anything other than supremely powerful and commanding, so when he heard it break towards the end of his speech, he was surprised. He and everyone else stood quietly, some sobbing softly, while Kinglsey moved to the side to allow certain people to pay their individual respects. Neville was the first to walk up to the coffin. His face was white and his lips trembled, but when he spoke it was with quiet certainty.

"You were special, Gin. Thank you for everything, but more than anything, thank you for being my friend. I'm thankful every day that I had the opportunity to know you, because every moment I spent with you was enjoyable. I'll never forget the way we helped organize the resistence during the Carrow's reign; you weren't given the credit I know you were due, but you did more than I can say for us all."

With that, he returned to the group to stand next to his grandmother, who patted his arm with one of her own wizened hands, a sad smile on her face.

Luna was the next to walk up, and she spoke in the same lilting, dreamy voice they all knew so well, and Harry felt a calmness settle upon him that had hadn't thought possible.

"People will say all sorts of things to you, Ginny, and they'll all be true. But there's only one thing I want to say: You were a good person, Ginny Weasley, in the truest sense of the word. It might not sound like much, but it's the highest praise I can give you."

Dean and Seamus went up together, and said a few words. Harry didn't listen particularly hard, he found himself reflecting instead on what Luna had said. It was true, he decided, Ginny had been a genuinely good person. Suddenly, his mind took him back to the other night, and he remembered the joy he had felt as Leo had had his soul sucked out of his mouth. He had to fight the sudden urge to vomit, there was no way he could ever claim to be a good person as well, not after that. He didn't know what he was going to do, but there was no way he could simply stay and pretend nothing had happened. What he had done… what they had _all _done, was so hideously evil, he could scarcely believe it of himself. Cold, premeditated and brutal, he may as well carve a Dark Mark into his arm and take up the ways of the Death Eaters.

One by one, all the Weasleys walked up to say a few words. When it came time for Mrs Weasley to do the same, she collapsed to the ground and had to be carried forward by Arthur. For a long while, she had simply stared at the coffin, crying. Then she lurched forwards and fell onto the casket, and began to scream with grief. Arthur did his best to comfort her, but really, there was little he could do. Eventually, in desperation, he cast a cheering charm on his wife and led her back to her seat. Even though he seemed to put a lot of effort into the charm, the effect was minimal, allowing him to do no more than guide her back to her seat, where she once more resumed sobbing onto her white faced husband's collar.

Hermione got to her feet before Harry or Ron. She was trembling, and Harry could tell she was dwelling, not on Ginny's death, but on the terrible thing the three of them had done the other night. She proceeded to whisper to the casket, head bowed, in a voice too soft for anyone to hear. Harry strained his ears, but could pick up no more than a few words. 'Sorry' seemed to be prominent among them.

Hermione stood for longer than anyone else, continuing to whisper quietly, and when she finally turned, some people visibly recoiled at the look on her face. She returned to her seat, without sparing a glance towards her friends.

She couldn't even look at him anymore.

Harry's jaw clenched, he was ready to scream, to announce to the entire congregation what they had done. It was too terrible, he could scarcely hold it in.

Ron had to be prodded in the side to get him to realize it was his turn. He got to his feet, stumbled, and then lurched to casket's side. For a long while he said nothing, but then he brought down his fist hard on the casket and screamed, "HOW COULD YOU?"

Many people exclaimed at the outburst, and Harry saw one of the aurors of Kingsley's guard get up to stop the display. In an instant, he was on his feet himself, wand drawn and pointing at the auror. It didn't seem to occur to the man to even think of retaliating, as he backed down from the Boy-Who-Lived immediately.

Ron meanwhile, had slumped to his knees, forehead pressed against the coffin, continuing to mutter, "How could you? How could you?" over and over. Harry spared a glance to the rest of the Weasleys. They were all staring at Ron, slightly sick expressions on their faces, but Harry could tell that they desired nothing more than to join him in his remonstrations. Ginny had taken herself from them, and for the life of them, they could not understand why.

After a minute or two, Harry decided that enough was enough. He walked briskly to Ron's side, and hefted him to his feet in one motion. Ron swayed for a second, but then he caught Harry's eye, and suddenly he seemed possessed of a new strength.

It was fitting, Harry thought, as they stood side by side by the coffin. They had been together since first year, at each other's sides through each and every horrific event and terrible confrontation. And now they stood straight and proud, shoulder to shoulder, facing down the greatest challenge either had ever faced, together or apart.

Together they faced the death of the one they both called 'sister'.

Harry could do what Ron could not, he could speak.

"What is there to say, Ginny, that hasn't been said already?" he asked the casket. "Everything said here today is true, so I won't repeat it. I do want to tell you something though.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't put you first. I'm sorry I didn't act the hero just a little longer. I'm sorry you went through what you did without anyone by your side, because I was selfish, and stupid, and a just a total berk really."

Tears were falling now, but Harry didn't notice. His eyes were fixed on the slightly blurry sight of the coffin in front of him, willing himself to see through the wood to the person within, because that was who he really wanted to speak to. Not some hunk of wood.

"I'm sorry I let you become involved with me. Bromhilda Maricky was right, I can't be trusted with other people's love, or trust, or affection. You and so many others paid for that fact, and I'm sorry I'm the cause.

"I'm sorry I let you down Ginny. But most of all, I'm sorry it's you in that casket, and not me."

A cry of outrage met his final words. Harry didn't turn around, he just stood next to Ron, head bowed over the coffin. He could hear shouts of denial at his words, could hear the fools protesting, denying his words.

_Denying _them. Harry snarled. How _dare_ they? With one quick flick of his wand, they fell silent, and harry turned slowly to face them, Ron along with him.

They were scared, he saw that immediately. He was glad.

"If any of you actually knew Ginny, or myself for that matter, you wouldn't have spoken out of turn just then." he told them threateningly. Some people were looking at him with shock, surprise, guilt or fear. These he knew, where the ones who had voiced themselves. Others, such as the Weasleys, Neville and Luna, simply looked at him knowingly, though he saw what appeared to be sad understanding in the looks they were giving him.

That made him angry as well.

They were looking at him as though they expected him to say just what he had, but as though they didn't believe it themselves. They looked at him as though he were just being his usual, self-sacrificing self.

Even as he tried to take blame, to tear down the heightened opinions of him, they still managed to put him on a pedestal! It made him furious!

If they knew, any of them, what he done that night… he knew then they might look at him differently.

"If any of you knew! Any of you!" he screamed. "You all think I'm the tragic little hero? Still? You're so fucking wrong it HURTS!"

He leered at them all, injecting his gaze with as much malice and contempt as he could muster. He felt a rush of satisfaction as they recoiled from him, the horrified expressions on their faces putting a gleeful smile on his.

Hermione had gotten to her feet, a furious look on her face. She strode towards him, and Harry felt a tiny thrill of fear at the look she was giving him. She reached them, and slapped him as hard as she could.

If only there had been some crickets about, the silence would have been complete. As it was, everyone was struck dumb. Harry and Hermione were oblivious to everyone else, and stared into each other's eyes with such intensity it was almost painful. Harry was the first to move, he grasped her arm, and together they turned on the spot.

As he turned, Harry took a last long look at the coffin. It was wrong, he decided, for Ginny to be hidden like that. She was going to have dirt thrown over her, and be left to rot in the ground.

He couldn't allow it.

He could feel his magic around him, could feel it flowing though him. It was a matter of supreme ease to harness it, and then it was done, and Harry Ron and Hermione dissaparated, leaving the funeral in complete pandemonium.

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Their feet slammed into solid ground, and Ron and Hermione looked around in surprise at their location. The shrieking shack.

"The Shrieking Shack?" asked Hermione.

"It was-"

"The first place you thought of." Ron finished Harry's sentence, slumping into the moth eaten and rotting couch. "Harry… what the hell happened back there?"

Harry stiffened. "Did you hear them, Ron?"

His friend shrugged. "Yeah, just the same old bullshit as always. 'Oooh, Boy-Who-Lived! Yaddy yaddy yah.' I don't know why it set you off like that though, they've been doing it forever."

Harry and Hermione stared at him, unable to believe he couldn't fathom the reason for Harry's anger.

"Ron. Do you remember what we _did _two nights ago?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"Of course I do!"

"Well then perhaps you can understand why I have a problem with them still putting me up on a pedestal as though the sun shines out of my every orifice."

"Well yeah, I mean, I know what we did wasn't exactly noble, but he deserved it!"

"DESERVED IT?" Hermione cried deridingly. "How can you say that? WE FUCKING SET A DEMENTOR ON SOMEONE, RON!"

"But-but that was your idea…" he trailed off, looking quite scared at the looks on his friends faces. Hermione swelled with fury.

"I did what I did, you fucking moron, to stop you and Harry from becoming MURDERERS! Don't think for a moment that I enjoyed it, Ron, don't you dare!" she screeched at him. Ron leapt to his feet, his face reddening.

"So that's the way it is, then? Harry and I are the bad guys, and you're just some poor bint we dragged along for the ride? You're just as guilty as us Hermione!" he yelled at her, matching her for volume.

"I! KNOW!" Hermione screamed. She looked quite deranged. Suddenly she slumped to her knees, wrapped her arms around her head and screamed. "I KNOW! I KNOW! I KNOW!"

Ron goggled at the sight. "Hermione…"

She leapt to her feet once more, eyes blazing. "We are terrible fucking people, Ron Weasley. What we did, was indefensible. It was DEATH EATER MATERIAL! We should be in Azkaban, at the very least for what we've done!"

Ron still felt the need to defend their actions. "Death Eaters?" he cried incredulously. "Hermione, he was scum! HE KILLED MY LITTLE SISTER! And you stand there defending him? Saying that we're the evil ones?"

Hermione shook her head. "Leo didn't kill Ginny, Ron." she said, continuing before he could argue. "Ginny killed herself, whether you want to admit it or not. She could have gone to any drug dealer in London and gotten exactly the same stuff, Leo was just unlucky enough that she chose him. We ARE evil, Ron. There's no going back from what we've done."

Ron stared at her, struck dumb. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He hadn't liked doing what they had done to Leo, but hadn't regretted it either. Now, he didn't know what to think. In desperation, he turned to Harry, who sat, quiet as the grave, on the bed.

"Harry, mate," he started, pleadingly. "What we did… we're not evil. Please Harry, we're not…"

Harry stared ahead, eyes averted from both his friends. When he spoke, it was as though every word caused him inexpressible agony.

"You Ron, Hermione. You're not evil. I can tell you that much with total certainty." He looked up at them, at Hermione's disbelieving face, and at Ron's hopeful one, and just as the congregation at the funeral had, they recoiled from his gaze. It was tortured, as though it contained a thousand years of suffering, condensed into two brilliant green orbs.

"What I made you do… was… so terrible. I've tried to convince myself that it was a moment of madness, that it's not who I really am." His face crumpled, his hands shook, but Harry forced himself to continue.

"But it is. I don't deserve either of you. I've taken you, two good people, and look what I've made you do." He looked at them. "We should know by now, anyone who gets close to me ends up paying the price, I've just been to selfish to realize the fact, and to keep you both far away from me. I've destroyed your lives."

He looked at Hermione, his next words were for her, and her alone. His face was white, and he looked so frail, as though his next sentence would decide his fate… one way or another.

"You should have let me die that day in Grimauld, Hermione."

For a long time they looked at one another, brown eyes meeting green. Then something seemed to flicker within the eyes of his truest friend, and slowly, ever so slowly, Hermione nodded.

Harry broke.

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**Oooh Drama! I'm excited for next chapter... see you tomorrow.**

**-TR**

**P.S. Reviews are awesome! Thanks GoneCrazy3000 and Man of Constant Sorrow in particular. **


	10. Chapter 10: Old Friends, New Magic

**Right, this chapter is a pretty big one. I've developed some of my own theories regarding magic, but I've tried to build on JK's rather than just inventing my own, because completely fan-developed rules regarding magic in fanfics always tend to sound awkward to me… **

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Now this was strange…

Yes, definitely strange. Not altogether unfamiliar perhaps… but strange nonetheless.

A wide expanse of ceiling, towering above so high it was almost lost to sight. Walls, solid as though carved from a single chunk of marble. And all in glorious, glowing white. It was certainly a sight.

But it was nothing compared to the vision walking towards him.

"Hello Harry."

Harry's throat constricted, and his eyes bulged in his head.

Ginny Weasley giggled.

"You have _such _a way with words Harry, really you do."

"…You're dead…"

Ginny's smile simply widened, and she pretended to swoon. "As I said, a veritable Edgar Allan Poe, you are. But yes, I suppose I can't fault your logic, I am most certainly dead."

"This has happened to me before." Harry whispered, looking around. Oh it wasn't identical, that was true, but he had indeed once before been visited by a dead person, within a white room.

"Yes, Albus has been most expansive on his little chat with you back in May. I confess that's where I gained the idea."

"Am I dead then?"

Ginny patted him on the arm comfortingly. "Of course not Harry. You have however, suffered a deep and very personal shock, and I took the opportunity to pay you a visit. I must say it is extraordinarily lucky you are so… well, extraordinary, otherwise this little rendezvous wouldn't have been possible. As it is however, let's be thankful for the fact."

"Why are you here?"

Ginny's face fell. "I think you know why, Harry."

"The Dementor."

Ginny nodded sadly. "Yes. Not your finest hour if I may say so."

"No. I can't say that it was." he agreed.

"I know how you're feeling Harry."

Harry recoiled from her. "No you don't!" he hissed. "No one can possibly… you can't know." he finished lamely.

Ginny shook her head sadly. "Believe me, I do, but that's not important right now. What is important, is working out how you're going to fix this."

"What?"

"You heard me, how you are going to come back from this." she said matter-of-factly.

Harry goggled at her. "It's very simple." he said. "I'm not. As soon as I wake up, I'm going to do what Hermione should've let me do days ago, before I can do any more damage."

Ginny shook her head again. "No you're not, Harry. There is a way back from this, you just have to find it."

Harry stared at her, at a complete loss. "What… NO! No there is NOT a way back from this Ginny! The only possible way would be if we gave Leo his soul back, and that isn't going to happen, ergo, there is no way back!"

Ginny just looked at him, a tiny smile playing around the corners of her mouth. She looked like she was enjoying their little conversation, and it was making Harry angry.

"DON'T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT!" he yelled, turning his back on her. He massaged his knuckles, fighting the urge to hit something. Since the only thing in this room with him was Ginny, it was a desire he couldn't succumb to.

"Harry." Came Ginny's voice, light and gentle, yet probing, insistent. It was as though she were trying to get him to understand something exceedingly simple that was just out of his grasp. He turned. After all, what else did he have to do but listen to her?

"Many years ago, you were a little boy who didn't believe in magic any more than any other normal child. But now you understand that there are powers in the world that are unfathomable, and that magic is always around us, always there as an explanation."

"There are some things that can't be done with magic Ginny. If it was the answer to everyone's problems, then there wouldn't _be_ anyone with problems!"

Ginny laughed. "Of course magic is the answer to everyone's problems Harry! People just need to know how to use it to help themselves. Unfortunately, that's the point where so many of us fail. I did, and you have."

Harry knuckled his eye sockets, he thought he knew what Ginny was trying to tell him, in the most roundabout, infuriatingly vague way she could.

"So what, are you saying there's a magical way to force a Dementor to give up a soul? That we can give Leo his soul back?"

Ginny smiled widely. "Very good Harry."

Harry threw his arms up in exasperation. "Well you could've just _told _me that! What was all that vague bullshit for? You were starting to sound like Dumbledore."

"Don't be silly, Harry. I can't just give you all the answers. I'm dead. I'm just here to prod you in the right direction."

Harry didn't have time to ponder the absurdity of these words. "But how is it possible, why has it never been done before?"

Ginny sighed. "Dementor's have always been feared above other creatures, Harry. Wizards have never stumbled upon the fact that _anything _is possible with magic, so they never _tried_ to get a Dementor to give back a soul it had taken, because it was just accepted that they were terrible things and not to be trifled with."

But Harry was already shaking his head. "That's not true, not everything is possible with magic."

"Of course it is." Ginny replied offhandedly, as though he were being dim. Perhaps he was, Harry thought. "Give me one example of something that can't be accomplished by magic."

Harry didn't have to think hard. "You can't bring someone back from the dead." he said immediately and with certainty.

Ginny actually laughed. She laughed for a long time, and ended up doubled over, holding her sides. "Harry, please! You're smart, don't make me change my opinion of your mental capacities."

"But you can't!"

"Harry you numbskull." she replied, visibly exasperated. "What exactly do you think happened in the forest back in May? You brought back your parents, Sirius and Remus. What do you call that?"

Harry had his answer ready. "They weren't really back, they were just imitations!"

Ginny shook her head. "That's not true. They were alive. They had hearts that beat, brains that worked, blood in their veins. If you had stabbed one they would have bled. They were alive Harry, perhaps not perfectly so, but they were most certainly once more among the living."

Harry gaped at her, and she continued.

"If that's not enough for you, it happened again, just minutes afterwards. Voldemort hit you with the killing curse, and you left. Then you came back. Back from the dead, Harry."

"No. I wasn't dead, Dumbledore told me so!"

Ginny began to pace, angry that he was taking so long to accept her words. "You were dead Harry! Dumbledore told you that you weren't, but really he just didn't want to get caught up in the semantics of what was going on, there were more pressing matters at hand. You're physical body Harry, was dead. Had you been examined before your return, no healer would have pronounced you alive. You had the _potential _to return, yes, but you could just have easily gone on. Your mind was stuck in limbo between two states, but don't think for a moment that you didn't return from the dead that night, because you most certainly did."

Harry's brain wasn't working properly. It was slow, sluggish to absorb this information. He spoke at last, voicing a question that had been plaguing him.

"How do you know all this?" he whispered.

Ginny shrugged. "Being dead does wonders for your wisdom Harry. You think Dumbledore was wise when you knew him? You should see him now! To be honest, the constant philosophy he's always spouting off gets a bit wearing after a while, but still, he's certainly got some knowledge to share."

Harry shook his head. As much as he wanted to hear more about the afterlife, he knew he had to stay on track. They had already been distracted for far too long by his insistence that death was irreversible. "Okay." he began, marshalling his thoughts. "I suppose I have to accept all that, and I guess I believe you when you say that anything is possible with magic. But how am I meant to get a Dementor to give a soul back? That's got to be the most bizarre thing I've ever heard!"

For a minute Ginny looked slightly worried, but then she smiled. Suddenly, two comfy leather chairs had appeared behind her, and Ginny sat regally in one, motioning for him to join her. He did so.

"This is where it gets difficult I'm afraid Harry. I know, certainly I know, how it might be done. But I can't simply give you the answers, just like that. I'm only here in a guide's capacity. Certainly I can help you, point out where you're going wrong, things like that. But I can't outright tell you. So you might as well get comfy and brainstorm, I'll help where I can.

Harry sat, his mind blank. He couldn't even think where to begin. The concept was so bizarre to him, he felt like a second year attempting the fidelius charm.

"Dementors are cold, evil, and totally without emotion…" he began, deciding to start by reciting what he knew of the foul creatures, but before he could get any further, Ginny had interrupted him.

"Don't call them evil Harry. They aren't really."

Now this was something new.

"WHAT!" he exclaimed. "Ginny, you've told me some pretty crazy things, but that is the most insane yet. Dementors are pure evil, everyone knows that!"

To his surprise, Ginny just shrugged. "Well then I guess everyone is wrong. Dementors aren't evil."

"Ginny." He began slowly, trying to make her see sense. "They suck out people's souls and leave them as emotionless husks. What part of that don't you consider evil."

"Being dead, Harry, makes you realize a few things." Ginny said patiently. "For instance, how can a creature that is only doing what it was made to do be considered evil? Do you think a lion is evil when it tears out a gazelle's throat? Was Hedwig evil, all those times she brought a mutilated mouse to your window sill? Dementors destroy their prey, but they don't do so any more thoroughly than any other animal, it just so happens that their prey includes humans. If a Dementor doesn't eat, it starves. Why do you begrudge it food?"

Harry was gob smacked. "But they're cold, unfeeling husks, Ginny. They don't feel anything, any empathy, they just want to destroy and create misery."

"You're showing a surprising lack of open-mindedness Harry, I expected better of you. Do you think a Dementor sees what it does in the same way you do? Of course it doesn't. Humans have always had the hard-headedness to judge all other beings by their own flawed morality system. A Dementor doesn't consider itself evil, because it is only keeping itself alive, and in its own way, happy. We see it as evil because it does something to us that we fear and dislike." She paused. "Although we do so with good reason of course. I'm not saying we should accept to have our souls sucked out of our mouths, but what you have to realize, is that a Dementor does not _operate_ in the same way as a person, and it therefore cannot be _judged_ in the same way as a person.

"A person who acts as a Dementor does, you could consider them evil. Lord Voldemort was evil, for example, because he was a person who chose to act not as a person should. But a Dementor is not evil because it simply acts in the way all Dementors do. Does that make sense?"

Harry thought it did, but he wasn't sure he wanted it to.

"I can see the doubt in your eyes Harry. That's okay. One day, you'll join me as I am, and then you'll understand."

She smiled at him. "But we digress, your task is not to understand the Dementor, though that may help some, it is to undo the Dementors power that you yourself utilized. Now tell me, what are you trying to do, explicitly?"

Harry thought for a moment. "I'm trying to return the soul of a person to their body, using magical techniques never before used nor thought of. And I'm going to have to develop said techniques myself." he intoned. God, just saying it sounded utterly ridiculous.

Ginny nodded. "Quite. You are trying to return a soul. You are trying to _fix_ this person, yes?"

"Yes." Harry repeated slowly. He could tell she was trying to prompt him, but he wasn't sure where.

"You will have to _fix _this soul in order to _fix _this person." Ginny said, enunciating the word 'fix' strongly.

"Yes I…" Harry began, but he trailed off, as a thunderous thought occurred to him. "Horcruxes." He whispered hoarsely, eyes fixed on a point over Ginny's shoulder.

"What was that, Harry?" Ginny asked, sounding excited. Harry returned his gaze to her, his face white and his voice now animated as the idea blossomed and developed in his mind.

"Last year, when Ron, Hermione and I were about to go looking for Horcruxes." he told her quickly, eager to get his theory out in the open. "Hermione told us something, something about how the soul could be repaired. She said that if you were a wizard who had made a Horcrux, then there was only one way to undo what you'd done…"

"…Remorse." finished Ginny quietly, her smile wide and bright. "Honestly Harry, you really are exceptional! That was very quick."

Harry brushed off the praise, keen to continue. "You would have to feel totally and completely sorry for what you'd done, and doing so would force your soul back together! She said she couldn't imagine Voldemort doing it." he added.

"Remorse is linked to soul magic very closely. It's the only way to repair a damaged soul." Ginny told him.

"So in the same way remorsefulness could put a soul back together, it could put a whole one back inside a person?" Harry asked.

"Exactly. Pure and total remorse, guileless, true. That's the only way you can overcome what you've done, Harry."

But Harry had found a flaw in the plan. "But Dementors don't feel emotion like we do! They don't feel remorse. How can we make a Dementor remorseful, when, like you said, it was only doing what it was meant to do?"

"You can't I'm afraid. Much as Lord Voldemort would never have felt remorse for what he had done, a Dementor will never be convinced to feel sorry for sucking out a person's soul."

"But then-" Harry began, but Ginny cut over him, loudly.

"Fortunately, soul magic is a complex branch. What really matters in this case, is not who or what actually did the deed, but who was _responsible _for the deed occurring in the first place."

"Me…" breathed Harry, relief flooding though him as he realized the theory was sound.

"Yes indeed you. If it weren't for you, that Dementor would never have gotten within 100 miles of Leo Smeltz. Without you, he would still have his soul. It's your remorse that matters in this case, not the Dementor's. If Leo had lost his soul to a Dementor that had simply chanced upon him and performed the kiss of its own volition, then his soul would be forever gone. As it is, there is hope."

Harry hung his head, guilt piercing him once more.

"Good Harry! The guilt you feel is paramount to success! You're guilty of a terrible crime, but the damage can be undone. You can be guilty of its reversal as well. All you need do is harness the guilt, the shame and the remorse you feel."

Harry's mind was working a mile a minute. "But how!" he exclaimed. "It's too peculiar! How on earth can my remorse drag a soul out of a Dementor?"

Ginny grimaced. "That, I'm afraid, is where our little talk about the possibilities of magic comes in. You'll have to develop a spell to do so. It's lucky you have Hermione on your side, I suppose."

Harry was visited by a sudden memory of Hermione's brown eyes flickering, and the way she had nodded at his claim that she should have let him die. He flinched and pushed the memory away. When he looked up again Ginny was watching him thoughtfully, but she did not speak.

"That reminds me." Harry said. "I know I was the ringleader of what happened, but Ron and Hermione were still there, and pretty heavily involved. Especially Hermione. Will they have to be remorseful as well?"

Ginny thought for a moment. "Yes, I would say so… do you think that will be a problem?"

Harry thought back to his friend's argument in the shrieking shack. "Not for Hermione." he said without hesitation. "But Ron… I don't think he really understands just how wrong what we did was."

Ginny sighed. "Of course, things would have to be complicated by my brother, wouldn't they?"

Harry looked sheepish. "Well it's not really his fault…" he began.

"No, it's not really. The problem with Ron though, is that he's really just not very special."

"Excuse me?" asked Harry, taken aback by her words.

"The thing is Harry, you and Hermione are both special people – oh don't look like that, it's true whether you like it or not – but Ron is just well… average."

"What's wrong with that?" Harry asked hotly.

Ginny waved him down. "Nothing! Nothing! At least, not under normal circumstances. What I mean is, Ron is just somebody who acts exactly as anyone else would. What he did, he did for revenge, and he doesn't see anything wrong with that.

"People have been doing horrific things in the name of revenge for thousands of years Harry, and do you think they all reacted in the way you and Hermione did? Or course they didn't! They reacted much as Ron did. They don't necessarily like or condone what they've done, but they don't regret it either. Ron's just like these people! He's _normal_ in other words. He'll get over what the three of you did, and he'll go on to live a happy life. You and Hermione on the other hand, will dwell on the act and allow it to fester and grow in your minds. Eventually, it'll destroy you both."

Harry frowned. He didn't like what Ginny was saying, it sounded too much as though she was placing him on a pedestal above one of his friends. "That's not fair, Ginny." he argued. "Ron is a good person, he's just doesn't wear his heart on his sleeve like Hermione and I… which is a bloody good way to be in my opinion."

Ginny rolled her eyes, apparently annoyed at his refusal to set himself apart from Ron. "The point isn't whether you believe me or not Harry," she moved on, "the point is you're going to need to force Ron to feel regret, or else the spell won't work. Oh and for the record, I never said that he wasn't a good person."

"So we do actually have to create a spell to do this? That's not exactly child's play, is it?" Harry asked, eager to move on from the uncomfortable conversation.

"No not really, but the difficulty of the act itself has been overrated. All you have to do is give magical significance to an incantation. There's a reason Latin is a dead language amongst the Muggles, it contains too much magical residue to be used comfortably by them, which is why so many spells are in Latin."

Harry frowned. "So I could just find out what the Latin is for 'give this man back his soul' or something, give it, what was it… 'magical significance', and that'll work?"

"More or less. I'd probably try to use slightly fancier wording, but that's the gist."

"So how do I do that?"

"It's a funny story really. You just have to write them down, preferably carved into a magical material, and then say an incantation over them."

Harry looked at her in surprise, he couldn't see what was particularly funny, but the instructions startled him anyway. "That's it? You use magic to create new magic? How did the incantation to create magic originally come about, then?"

Ginny smiled. "That's the funny part of the story, and just another mystery of the universe I'm afraid. But I'm sure if we were to find out how one day it would make perfect sense."

Harry nodded, lost in thought. It all sounded wonderful, and he was excited to try, but there were still a few loose ends he had to clear up with Ginny before he lost her help.

"Can you tell me the incantation?" he asked. "As a matter of fact, I thought you said you couldn't give me any direct answers? I've been asking you questions and you've been answering them plainly for the last 10 minutes."

Ginny laughed. "I haven't really, Harry. You already know the answers, or you would find out very easily from someone like Hermione. I couldn't give you the answers that mattered, because you had to work out the soul magic for yourself. Boring old questions about simple, physical facts I can generally answer though. As for the incantation, I will tell you that, because there are only a few books in the world that could give you the information, and I don't want you running all over Britain for the next 10 years trying to find them when you should be putting to rights the damage you've caused."

Harry waited expectantly. "Ok then, what's the incantation?"

Ginny hesitated. "There's… power in these words Harry. They mustn't simply be spoken out of turn, or in the spirit of conversation. They must only be used in the act of creating magic. I can't tell you them, but I can write them down; here." she said, and pulled a piece of paper out of thin air, which she proceeded to write on. When she was done, she handed the paper to Harry, who read the words upon it. With a stab of grief, he was forcibly reminded of the last thing written by Ginny that he had read. Shaking his head, he examined the Latin sentence in front of him.

_'Lingua haec verba virtutem. Da quod semper fuit in potentia sua.'_

Even written on paper, the words seemed to reverberate with power. Harry gulped slightly.

"By themselves, the words have no power, but grouped together exactly like this, they are some of the most potent things in existence. What I've given you, Harry, is not to be taken lightly. The ability to create magic at will is a power granted to precious few. In giving you them, I need something from you."

"What do you need?" he whispered, willing to give up nearly anything.

"The unbreakable vow. I need you to swear, literally on your life, that as soon as you have created the spell for use on the Dementor, you will destroy this paper, as well as obliviate the words from your own mind."

Harry nodded quickly, it was a price he was more than willing to pay. He held out his hand to Ginny, who grasped it. She pulled out a wand. "The laws of nature are lax here. Making an unbreakable vow with someone who is dead is something never done before. Do you feel honored Harry? You are a pioneer, after all." she asked him with a smile that he knew so well.

"Yes… honored… that would be one way to describe it." Harry said ruefully.

"I won't ask what another way would be." Ginny said, laughter in her voice. She tapped their entwined hand with the wand, intoning. "Do you, Harry Potter, swear to use the knowledge of the Words for one use, and one use only, on pain of death?" she asked.

"I do." was the reply. A tendril of golden light entwined their linked hands.

"And do you, upon completion of said task, swear to obliterate all knowledge of the specific phrase I have given you from the world?"

"I do." A second link, twining around the first, issued forth from the wand.

"And do you swear to repair only the damage you have wrought in the past, and not use the words for any other spell not directly connected with the task we have discussed."

"I do." A third tendril joined the others. They glowed for a moment, and then disappeared, leaving a faint outline on Harry's skin.

"That's that then." Ginny said happily. "I think you're ready to go back soon Harry."

"Oh." was all Harry replied. Just as he had been tempted to stay with Dumbledore back in May, so was he tempted to stay here with Ginny in this tranquil, quiet room, away from the horrors of the real world. Away from Hermione, who now wished he was dead…

Ginny seemed to read his mind. "Don't worry about Hermione Harry."

His head whipped up her words, and he glared at her smiling face. "Don't worry about her?" he exclaimed. "How can I not worry about her? She wishes I was dead!" His voice cracked, and he buried his face in his hands.

"Believe me Harry, she loves you just as much as she always has."

Harry gave a wounded noise, and rose his anguished face to meet her eyes. "You didn't see her. You didn't see the look she gave me. Something _died _in her eyes, Ginny. She hates me for making her do what we did." He looked lost for a moment. "As well she should." he added, before slumping back into his hands.

"Oh get up and quit your complaining!" Ginny snapped, and to his own surprise, Harry did. Ginny was looking at him understandingly, but still seemed quite annoyed. "You're right in saying she hates what you did, but you're wrong to think she hates you for it. NO! Don't speak! Listen. Hermione loves you, even after what you did, because she knows that the person in that room wasn't you, not really. There is a baser side to you, Harry, an animalistic side, but Hermione Granger doesn't love that side. She loves you, and will always love you, the real you."

Harry stared at her, taking in the conviction in her eyes, and slowly, he nodded. Ginny smiled, and suddenly the room was fading. Ginny was growing blurred, fainter, but her smile was as radiant as ever.

"I'll see you later Harry." she called. "But it won't be anytime soon, be sure of that!"

And with that she was gone, and Harry was blinking in the gloom of the shrieking shack, a scrappy piece of paper clutched in his hand and a smile splitting his features.

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**There we are then. I'm quite proud of the whole remorse/soul thing I've done, I think it ties in nicely with the canon. **

**Let me know what you think.**

**-TR**


	11. Chapter 11: Building Bridges

**Holy crap! I'm back! And way sooner than I thought I would be to. I checked the traffic counter today, and saw that the story got a ton of views after I posted that author's note, mainly from recurring readers who obviously thought I had updated. I felt really bad about disappointing you all, so I basically just sat myself down and forced myself to write until I had a chapter done. I completely rewrote everything I had already written and it came a lot easier the second time round. I'm much happier with the new take. **

**I'm still suffering from the block, so I won't promise anything on the next update, but I put it as anywhere between two days and a week away. **

**Cheers for reading.**

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"Harry!"

That's funny, he didn't remember the shrieking shack being so… orange.

"Harry!"

Oh wait, that was Ron's hair. Why was Ron's hair all he could see?

Harry shook his head, trying to clear it. He realized quickly that he'd lost his glasses; everything was a blurred mess, dominated by the shock of orange hair in front of his face. He fumbled on the ground around him for a moment and finally came upon his glasses, which he jammed back onto his nose. He was rewarded by a startlingly clear vision of the shrieking shack, and of Ron's concerned face hovering in front of his.

He grinned. "Hey mate. What's up?" he asked as nonchalantly as the circumstances allowed.

Ron sagged, his face taking on a defeated, but vastly relieved expression. "Arse!" he exclaimed. "What was all that about, eh?" He was yelling, his voice exasperated, but Harry could tell he was more reassured than annoyed.

"I'm not sure." Harry replied, "I just… I had to get away for a moment." he said uncertainly.

Ron stared at him. "Where?" he asked baldly.

Harry gave him a curious look. "Why? Did I go somewhere?" he asked.

Ron's ears went red. "No, of course not, but you were muttering and moaning and twitching on the ground there while you were unconscious." he told Harry. "I figured you must have been having one of your vision things."

Harry frowned. "I haven't had one of those since Voldemort died, Ron. The piece of soul is gone, you know that."

He wasn't sure why he was being so obtuse towards Ron. After all, he had indeed had a 'vision thing', as Ron so eloquently put it. Still, it wasn't as his friend thought, and Harry was struggling to come up with a tactful way of explaining where he had been - and more importantly, who he had spoken to.

"Oh yeah." His friend replied quietly. "So – so what did you see then?"

Harry looked at Ron for a long while, wondering how to continue. He wondered briefly whether Ron would even believe him; after all, he scarcely believed it himself. He took a deep breath, and looked squarely into the other boy's eyes.

"Ginny." he said bluntly.

Ron stared back at him uncomprehendingly. "What?" he asked, equally bluntly.

"I saw – Ginny." Harry said again. "She came to visit me, basically like Dumbledore did back in May… and – and she talked to me."

Ron's mouth was hanging open. As Harry had feared, he was looking at him disbelievingly. "No." he said roughly, dropping his gaze.

"Yes." Harry told him in a stronger voice. "She said – said she was there to guide me. She helped me realize some things…" he trailed off.

Ron glared at him. "Oh yeah?" he challenged, unaware of how loud his voice had gotten. "And what did she help you realize, Harry?"

Harry looked at his oldest friend, and said simply. "That there's still hope, Ron. That there's still a way back." Ron was gaping at him again, but Harry didn't care. Gaping Ron was preferable to belligerent Ron any day. He pressed his advantage. "Ginny knows things, knows how we can fix what happened." he plowed on. "It's old magic. Lost magic. But it exists, and it's powerful." He paused, fixing Ron with a steely glare that the other boy met without flinching.

"She made me realize that anything is possible with magic, Ron."

Silence reigned for a long while after his little speech. Finally, just as Harry was about to open his mouth to try and convince Ron further, his friend nodded, almost imperceptibly. "Fine. Then I suppose I'm following your lead again, am I?" he asked irritably, but Harry could sense the excitement hidden in his voice, and the smile behind his expression.

He smirked. "You know it, my faithful minion."

For a while they grinned at each other, comfortable in each other's presence for the first time in what felt like forever. Then Harry noticed something decidedly less favorable.

"Where's Hermione?"

Ron jerked his head, as though trying to ward off an irritable fly. "She left." he said shortly.

Harry's heart sank. He had thought he would probably awaken to an, at the very least, frosty reception from Hermione, but to have her gone completely? That was a different matter entirely. "Where did she go?" he asked.

Ron shrugged. "Dunno for sure, but probably back to the Burrow, or Grimauld Place." He paused as though thinking. "Maybe she even went to her parent's." he added.

Of the three, Harry thought the latter was the most likely. Hermione had gone to fetch her parents back from Australia just two days after the Final Battle, and they had resettled in their old home in London. Initially they had been annoyed, and even a little scared, by what Hermione had done. Eventually however, their love for their daughter had overcome their dislike of her actions, and they had reestablished a strong relationship.

"You might want to give her a couple days to calm down, Harry." Ron told him uncertainly. "She was pretty cut up about everything, I dunno how she'd react to you at the moment."

Harry sagged. "Even if we do fix things Ron, do you think we can go back to the way we were?" he asked, almost pleadingly.

Ron hesitated. "I'm not sure." he answered honestly, and held up his hands when Harry looked at him with a broken expression. "I mean, I'm not saying they can't. I'm just saying – well, put it this way: she basically said she wished you were dead, right?"

Harry grimaced, but gestured for Ron to continue. He did so. "Now I know for a fact that's complete bullshit, and she doesn't mean it whatsoever."

He nodded, despite Harry's disbelieving expression. "It's true. The day Hermione genuinely wishes you dead is the day I buy a Blast Ended Skrewt off of Hagrid."

Harry smiled at the analogy in spite of himself, but then his face fell again. "If that's true, then why is she gone?" he asked.

Ron sighed and continued. "Because she feels guilty." he said, as though it should be obvious. "You didn't see her face, mate. When you passed out, she looked like she was about to hurl. She was crying and carrying on, it was all I could do to see make sure you weren't dead as well making sure she didn't burn down the shack with accidental magic.

"I've never seen anything like it." he added in an awed voice. "She was saying all this mental stuff. I won't repeat it, but believe me when I say she was pretty goddamn pissed off, but more with herself that with you. I think she felt like she'd ruined your relationship, and that she just had to get away. She'd reached her breaking point, you know."

Harry digested this information. It was hardly pleasant listening, but he couldn't help but feel his heart lift at Ron's words. The possibility that Ginny was right, that Hermione would always love him, was almost too good to be true. He took a deep breath. "Well that's all well and good, but we still need to find her." he said.

Ron looked skeptical for a moment. "Are you sure you don't want to give her a while to calm down?" he asked.

Harry shook his head and replied firmly. "No, this needs to be dealt with now. It _all _needs to be dealt with now. What happened between us, and what we have to do to fix what we did. Letting it fester would only hurt us more, you know."

Ron frowned. "Yeah, I meant to ask you, what exactly is fixing this mess going to take?"

Harry shook his head. "First things first, finding Hermione. I'll tell you both then. There's a lot to tell, and I'd rather not have to explain it twice." he said. Ron nodded, clearly disappointed, but he didn't press the issue. Together, they got to their feet and dissaparated out of the gloomy shack.

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Hermione sat in her parent's lounge room, the comfortable surroundings making a mockery of her current inner turmoil.

She wasn't crying. She wasn't doing anything much.

She had arrived on their doorstep a couple of hours ago, in quite a to-do. Her mother had ushered her into the lounge room, and through the combined effects of gentle cajoling and an enormous, industrial sized cup of tea, she had managed to eke out a few fragmented bits of the story.

Hermione hadn't been able to bring herself to tell her parent's the specifics of what they had done to Leo, but they were under no illusions that she had indeed done something quite terrible, and was paying an enormous emotional price. They were also aware that Harry Potter was somehow involved, and that Hermione was feeling a mixture of deep resentment and deep attachment for the boy.

Dan Granger had already announced that if Potter were to announce himself, he would be met with the pointy end of a shotgun. Hearing her daughter's squeak of concern at this pronouncement, Jean Granger had managed to have this threat downgraded to a slightly more reasonable 'stern taking to'.

At this point, both her parents had retired to the kitchen, in order to give her some alone time. Hermione was running over the events of the past few days in a fever of discontent, rejecting each conclusion even as it came to her. Forefront in her mind was of course that most confusing of enigmas; Harry Potter.

Harry Bloody Potter. She was so angry with him! After all he'd put her through, he had the gall to declare that she should have let him die that day! How was she supposed to handle an announcement such as that?

So she had agreed, and then he had fainted! Yet another thing for her already overburdened and frenzied mind to latch onto and obsess over.

In almost eight years, Hermione had never run from Harry's side. Never. Not once.

And now she had.

She moaned and took a large gulp of lukewarm tea, pulling a face as she reached the bitter dregs.

Was that where her relationship with Harry had finally ended up: the bitter dregs? She shuddered. Had she meant it when she had nodded at him?

Of course not!

And yet… There was no denying the resentment she felt towards him. After eight years of faithful friendship he had forced her to commit an act of such atrocious cruelty it made her head swim, and had then announced that she was wrong to have valued him enough to try and save his life!

There was only one way to describe it: fucking infuriating.

"How dare he?" she exclaimed out loud. Her mother popped her head around the door, summoned by the sound of her daughter's voice.

"What was that dear?" she asked. Hermione ignored her. Her eyes were closed and a whirlwind of images, memories and emotions were chasing each other around behind her lids.

She loved him.

She hated him.

Thank God she had him.

Why couldn't she let him die?

Because she loved him.

Oh… _Harry, jumping onto the back of a troll, as a small girl cringed away in horror… Harry, walking through flames to face who knew what evil… Harry, speaking parseltongue… Harry, solving the mystery… Harry, hurling a Patronus at a wall of dementors… Harry, dodging a dragon… Harry, pulling three people to safety through black waters… Harry, appearing on the Quidditch pitch, half dead and clutching a body… Harry, defending them all from Death Eaters in the Ministry… Harry, drowning in guilt… Harry, perfecting a potion as his friend looked on in envy… Harry, sprinting down from the astronomy tower, hatred in his heart and murder on his face… Harry, yelling at his friend to leave... Harry, dead in a giant's arms… Harry, circling the darkest wizard of the age, taunting him… Harry, victorious at last… Harry, slumped at a table, wand pointed at his head… Harry, kissing a bushy-haired girl in a dingy kitchen, taking her in his arms… Harry, staring over a lake as a boy screamed in anguish over a body… Harry, his face oh so pale and burning with hatred, laughing as a soul was torn from a thin, pointy faced man… Harry, screaming at mourners at a funeral… Harry, "you should have let me die Hermione"… Harry, collapsing…._

_"You're a great wizard Harry."_

But did she still believe those words?

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Harry raised his hand, and then he stopped. He was standing on front of the Granger's font door, poised to knock, but something was holding him back. Uncertainty and fear swirled in his gut, but it was tempered by a strong feeling of excitement at what could be about to come. He took a deep breath, and went over the speech he planned to give Hermione. Behind him, Ron gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder. He knocked.

The door was opened by a middle aged woman Harry recognized immediately as Hermione's mother, not because she looked anything like her daughter, but because he had of course seen her before, in Diagon Alley and such places. She was a thin woman with much the same build as Aunt Petunia, but somehow the effect was much more pleasant on her, and she radiated a motherly air much the same as Mrs Weasley. Her face was petite and pretty, and looked as though it smiled easily.

Now however, it was creased in a deep frown. "Harry Potter, I presume?" she asked, her voice cool.

Harry gulped and nodded. "Yes ma'am. Is -" he was cut off as Mrs Granger looked past him to Ron.

"And who're you?" she asked brusquely.

Ron jumped, clearly uncomfortable with the attitude the conversation had taken on. "Er, Ron Weasley, I'm a friend of Hermione's"

Jean Granger gave him a reproving look. "Yes, I remember Hermione mentioning you. Well, what do you both want?" she asked.

Harry bit back the biting reply he was itching to give her, and forced his face into a polite smile. "Is Hermione home?" he asked. "It's vitally important that I – that is to say – we, talk to her." he said, gesturing between himself and Ron.

Jean frowned. She was loath to let in the boy she knew was responsible for Hermione's current state, but he did seem to genuinely believe that he had to talk to her. She hesitated, but before she could come to a decision, her husband, Dan, joined her in the doorway. "What's going on darl…?" he broke off as he spied the boys on the doorstep, and his expression darkened.

Harry decided to direct his question to the new arrival. "Hello, I'm Ha-" he began, but before he could finish his statement, Mr Granger had interrupted him.

"Yeah I know who you are, Potter. What I don't know is what you're doing here." he said in a dangerous voice.

Harry sighed inwardly. "I have to speak to Hermione." he replied shortly, not bothering to sound polite as he had to Jean, as he was thoroughly sick of their attitudes.

"Oh do you? You HAVE to speak to her?" Dan repeated mockingly. "Well I'm afraid I don't agree. If her current state is anything to go by then you're not much good for my daughter, Mr Potter, and as a father I'm obligated to keep her away from corrupting influences. I'm sure you understand." he finished with nasty smile, and made to close the door.

Harry jammed his foot in the doorway, winching as the heavy oak crushed his toes. He couldn't bring himself to argue with Hermione's parents, mainly because he happened to agree with most of their statements. Still, he had to see Hermione. "I'm sorry, Mr Granger. I didn't want this to become acrimonious, but I'm afraid I _will_ speak to Hermione whether you like it or not. If I don't, I'm afraid her mental state will only suffer more." he told them in a flat voice.

Dan Granger swelled with fury. "Is that a threat boy!" he bellowed in a remarkable impression of Uncle Vernon, if only he weren't about 250 pounds lighter.

Harry sighed, out loud this time. "Of course not. It was a statement of fact. Hermione needs to hear what I have to say."

The two men stared each other down for a few moment. Dan Granger could see the conviction in the boy's eyes, and was mollified by it. He could bluster with the best of them, but ultimately he was a fair man, and he recognized good intentions when he saw them. With a flick of his head, he indicated to the boys that they should enter. Harry smiled gratefully, and together he walked across the threshold with Ron, who was looking extremely apprehensive.

Jean walked them down the hallway, and showed them to a door. "This is the living room." she told them. "Will you need to talk alone?"

Harry was very grateful that she had brought this up, as he hadn't been looking forward to asking Hermione's parents to leave the room so that they could talk alone. "I'm afraid so, Mrs Granger. It's just that what I have to say is very complex, and there aren't enough hours in the day for the amount of time I would have to spend explaining all the details to you and your husband. I'm sorry."

Jean nodded stiffly, she had been expecting as much. "Fine." she told him, and with that she walked away towards the kitchen.

Harry pushed open the living room door tentatively, and walked inside. Hermione was sitting, facing away from them, in an armchair. She didn't seem to hear the door open, nor notice their footsteps as they walked towards her.

Harry stopped around a meter from her chair, nervousness clogging his brain. Words failed him. Eventually, it was Ron who spoke.

"Hermione."

She whipped around, hair streaming out in a fan behind her, and stared at them. Her eyes narrowed, and Harry recognized many of the emotions that lurked within them. To his relief, the dead look they had held in the shrieking shack was gone, replaced with a myriad of passions. He could sense her anger, but also the years of friendship that held it at bay. He let out his breath in one whoosh, and suddenly he was speaking.

"Hermione." he began. She continued to look at him, her eyes never leaving his face. He shuffled awkwardly, and decided it would be easier for them all if they sat. He took a seat on the couch across from her, while Ron flopped into an armchair facing the middle of them.

Harry looked into the eyes he had known since first year. They were just like he remembered them, but then again, they were completely different. There was hurt there, he could tell. And distrust. That made him sad, Hermione had never distrusted him before.

But there was something else as well. Something deeper. It was buried beneath layers of negativity, but for all that it was stronger than the other feelings there.

It was hope.

Hope that he offered her a way out from the pain she was in. Hope that he would come through, just as he had so many times in the past, and pull her out from the darkness. Hope that perhaps, just perhaps, there was a way out.

Harry couldn't help it, he grinned. There was hope alright. More than hope, there was a real, tangible thing he could give her. A rope to haul her upwards, if you will.

He spoke slowly, patiently, for the next half an hour. He spoke to both of his friends, but his eyes never left Hermione's, as it was her trust he had to repair. He told them of what he had seen, who he had spoken to. Ron made to interrupt several times, but Harry plowed on over the top of him. He was enraptured by his own words, and captured by the gaze of the girl across from him, who never let her eyes wander.

Finally, it was done. He had said everything. He had told them every word Ginny has said. He didn't leave out a detail, no matter how uncomfortable. When it was over, he let them digest his words for a while, and then, still looking into her eyes, he held out his hand to Hermione.

"Just once more Hermione. I just need your trust once more. Then, your life can be yours again." he whispered.

Hermione looked at him. Her eyes were no longer readable; he couldn't see what dwelt within her mind anymore. The expressive pools were gone, but the dead pieces of slate from the shrieking shack were not back either. They were bright and alive, but they were her own, and her thoughts were beholden to no one.

And then she smiled, and it was like a shaft on sunlight though a cloud. The atmosphere shattered into a thousand pieces, and it could have been just the two of them in the entire world. Hermione's eyes were his again, he could see everything, and it was wonderful. She grasped his hand in her own, and drew him close across the coffee table.

"I almost fixed you once before, Harry. I'll do it again." she said, and there was such conviction in her voice, he believed her without compromise.

Her lips were right there, just centimeters in front of him. But then they were moving, and they were closer again, and then they were touching his. For the briefest seconds, Harry remembered his words in the shrieking shack, and the way she had nodded, and he considered pulling away. But a second later his brain had clouded, and he collapsed into the feeling.

It was magnificent. His worries and pain, trials and tribulations; all were still there lurking in his mind, but the kiss drove them to the edges. He could feel them raging, fighting to be foremost in his mind once more, but they were no match for the feeling that was battling against them. Harry didn't know what to call it, but it swirled and filled his brain regardless, blanking out the negativity and the pain, driving his memories into the dark holes that they had crawled out of.

Hermione deepened the kiss. She kissed him thoroughly, hungrily, determined to force him to think of nothing but the feel of her lips, the movement of her tongue.

Harry's brain was now full of the wonderful, warm feeling. When they broke apart at last, it did not retreat as he had though it might, but instead it strengthened as he opened his eyes, and took in Hermione's glowing visage. And then it was spreading, filling his body, his limbs, heating him to the very tips of his fingers. It reached his chest and he thought his heart would burst from the beautiful, strangely terrible strength of it.

Suddenly, harry was remembering. His own voice, younger and innocent.

_"When the prophecy says that I'll have 'Power the Dark lord knows not', it just means – love?"_

He heard the disappointment in his own words, and remembered clearly the way he had wondered how love could possibly help him overcome his greatest challenge.

But the little boy from the memory; the child; he was dead and buried. Gone as assuredly as Voldemort himself. Harry was not the boy he had been, and now he knew, so clearly, why love was his greatest strength.

And all it had taken to realize it was for him to fall into the darkest recesses of his mind, and to crawl back out again.

A cough emanated from somewhere behind them, and all of a sudden they realized that they were not alone. They turned to face their other friend in embarrassment.

Ron was looking half annoyed, half amused. "Remember me, did you?" he asked, but he didn't sound especially angry.

Hermione blushed spectacularly and began to splutter out something akin to an explanation. The action was such classic Hermione-ish behavior that Harry and Ron both burst out laughing. Which in turn only served to make Hermione blush even harder.

Harry, galvanized into action, leapt to his feet, a genuine smile on his face for the first time in days. He turned to his friends, who in turn faced him. He held out his hand again, to the both of them this time.

"Just one more trip into the unknown my friends."

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**Phew… That was fun. Can you tell that the scene in the living room just flowed perfectly as soon as I started writing it? Because it did. It actually felt a bit strange writing something so pleasant... barely any angst!**

**As always, thanks for reading. Leave a review letting me know what you think.**


	12. Chapter 12: Deepest Regrets

**Oh look at that, an update! Sorry about the wait, I'll do my best to get the next chapter up faster and get this story wrapped up. **

**As recompense, I've gone back and added an extra 1000 or so words to the beginning of chapter 9... just a little bit extra I left out initially, but that I decided was worth popping in. It doesn't change the plot in any way but if you want to go back and read a little bit of Harry/Hermione angst then feel free.**

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Ginny had been right; it was a good thing that he had Hermione on his side.

Simply developing an incantation had been hard enough. Hermione had lamented at length the fact that she had failed to study and learn Latin, and when Ron had pointed out that had she done so she undoubtedly would have been crushed under the weight of her own studies, she had snapped back that she could have of course simply stopped looking over his essays for him, and freed up time that way. Ron had been very quiet after that.

Eventually though, after much study of the language and its complexities, the trio had nutted out a phrase that they believed would, when imbued with the power of the Words, allow them to extract their own remorse and give it to a Dementor, thereby allowing them to free Leo's soul.

But their troubles were far from over.

The process of actually giving the words any magical power turned out to be a little more complex than Ginny had made it seem. Through the examination of many ancient tomes, Hermione managed to pinpoint many snags which may have crippled the incantation they were trying to produce, rendering it unserviceable.

Possibly the most frustrating part had been trying to find an appropriate material to carve the incantation into. Magical elements were stupendously rare at best, and since Hermione had decided that the best material to use would be one that was as purely magical as possible, the task had been made even more difficult.

Many types of ordinary ores and minerals had been manipulated and imbued with magic over the centuries, but they were simply vassals of magical essence, and Hermione had decided that such a thing simply would not do for what they were attempting. No, what they needed was something created, not by man, but completely naturally through the force of magic, without any outside influences. In short, they were looking for a needle in a haystack. Nay, a needle in a field of haystacks.

Eventually, there was only one place left to look. Having plumbed the depths of the Hogwarts library, as well as many other promising locations, Harry put forth the idea of exploring the place which itself explored the very building blocks of magic: the Department of Mysteries.

Hermione had groaned and hit her head against her palm at his suggestion, berating herself for not thinking of it in the first place. Together, they agreed that of all the places they could try, it was the most promising.

And so, two months after Harry had awoken from his meeting with Ginny, he, Ron and Hermione found themselves standing in front of the very same whispering veil through which Sirius had fallen on that fateful night so many years ago.

The crumbling stone archway appeared for all intents and purposes to be in exactly the same condition as it had been when they had last seen it, but now they examined it with a newfound wonder and interest.

Harry was the first to discover something odd. As he ran his fingers over the ancient stone, he felt a patch that seemed different to the rest. Igniting his wand tip, he examined the stone closer, and suddenly he was aware of what he was looking at.

Writing! There, ever so faintly visible in the stone were words, unmistakably Latin. Harry's heart leapt. Here at last was evidence that someone, at some point, had attempted to use the stone archway in the same manner that they themselves now wished to.

Spell creation. For all intents and purposes, the archway appeared to be made of nothing more than ordinary, grey granite. But if the carved words were anything to go by, then it must in actuality be made of a strange magical material. In other words, it was suitable to use as their base for carving the incantation.

Harry called the other two over to his discovery. Hermione exclaimed in excitement and congratulated Harry on the find, hope and relief basking her face in a warm glow. But it was Ron whom Harry studied hardest. The older boy was silent for a moment, his facial muscles working furiously, as though he were striving to say something difficult, painful even. In a moment though it had passed, and Ron enthused at length, just as Hermione had done. Hermione immediately pulled the piece of paper upon which they had written their proposed incantation, and prepared to begin carving it into the archway.

After so many months of agony, they were finally ready to begin putting things to rights.

It was a surprise then, when Ron's gaze suddenly steeled, and he grasped Hermione's arm, a grim expression on his face.

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"Stop." The single word cut through the silence of the room, and broke Harry and Hermione from their excited state. Ron looked intently into Harry's eyes, steeling himself for what he had to say. He took a deep breath, and began.

"You can't." he said.

Harry stared at his friend, completely thrown by the statement. "Why?" he managed to choke out, his face already beginning to tinge with colour.

Ron sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I've been meaning to bring this up for a while now, but you guys have just been so… excited about everything that was going on, I just couldn't bring myself to do it." He paused and took a steadying breath. "Harry, when you first explained everything, you told us how we would have to feel remorse for what had happened in order to reverse it, right?"

Harry nodded his head, understanding dawning in his mind. "You don't regret it, do you?" he asked Ron, unable to keep the note of accusation out of his voice. His face was inscrutable, but internally he was cursing himself. He had known, hadn't he, of Ron's hesitance to feel remorse over the incident? He had talked with Ginny about it, Hermione had argued with Ron over it. How had he forgotten?

Ron shook his head in answer to Harry's question, causing the other boy's gut to clench. Without Ron, without his contribution to the spell, what had been done could never be reversed. It was unthinkable, infuriating! Harry felt sick. He felt angry and he felt a desperate, feral need to make, to force Ron to understand.

Hermione gave a frustrated noise in the back of her throat. "Ron!" she exclaimed. "How can you not see that what we did was so terrible? How can you not see that we need to do everything we can to take it back?"

Ron's ears went a little pink. "You heard what Harry's said about what Ginny told him! I'm not special! I don't care that it was wrong! All I care about is that we got rid of a filthy bit of scum, a filthy bit of scum that is the reason my sister is DEAD!" he bellowed.

Hermione looked at Ron desperately, trying to get him to understand. "Ron… please… you have to see! You have to understand that we can't just appoint ourselves judge, jury and executioner!"

Ron shook his head. "I can see that perfectly well, thank you. I know that what we did was wrong, but in my own heart, in my own head, I don't regret it. I know that it wasn't morally justifiable and all that rot, but I don't need it to be! I'm still glad I did it because I was doing it for revenge at the time, and my feelings haven't changed! I don't understand why yours have!" he yelled.

He had finally gone too far. Harry got to his feet slowly, a slightly sick look on his face as he looked down on his friend. When he spoke, it was with cold malice. "You think we don't feel as strongly about Ginny dying as we did? As you do? Is that it?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Ron looked back defiantly. "Well how can you! You did something brutal and spontaneous because you were devastated. But now you want to take it back because it doesn't stand up to your oh-so-high moral standards! You're lying to yourself about what you really think!"

Harry was becoming angry. No, that was the wrong word; livid; that probably described it better. After months of hope and of slowly pulling himself out of the funk that had enveloped him, Ron was bringing everything crashing down. The memories and emotions of the past few months assaulted him, and his eyes darkened with a terrible anger that he hadn't felt since that night with the Dementor.

Harry's baser side was coming out.

Hermione was yelling at Ron, telling him that he was foolish, that he didn't understand. Ron was yelling back, and together they made a cacophony of half-formed arguments and hurtful truths that had so characterized their arguments in the past. This time however, was worse, as the very survival of their mental state relied on the actions of the next few minutes.

Harry's fury was growing. Slowly, he raised his hand, bringing his wand to bear pointing directly at Ron's chest. Ron and Hermione stopped arguing abruptly, and for the first time, fear was evident on Ron's face.

"Harry!" Hermione cried, her face tear-stained. Harry glanced at her. She was bedraggled, and he saw that she was struggling to understand just how wrong things had managed to go in such a short amount of time. He understood. After all, he was wondering the same thing himself. She was looking at him with a desperate plea, and Harry knew what she was thinking. She had forgiven him, that day in her parent's living room, promising to follow him one last time, but now here he was pointing a wand at his best friend, threatening to bring his words of a fresh start and redemption to naught. He couldn't face the look in her eyes. He turned back to Ron, and spoke. The others flinched away from his harsh, acerbic voice.

"If you still don't understand, then I'll just have to make you." he said, raising his wand.

Several things happened at once at this point. Hermione leapt towards him with a cry of "No!", Ron tried to dive out of the way of Harry's wand and Harry, anger coursing through his veins and torment ripping at his mind, let forth a spell.

Black as midnight, streaked with glints of ivory and crimson, the spell flew towards Ron with a terrible certainty, and the gangly boy was too slow to avoid it. It caught him as he fell, and his figure stiffened as though in pain. For a while he was still, eyes wide and staring, mouth hanging open as the bizarre, unfamiliar magic poured into him.

Then he screamed. His body remained as still as ever, but from his open mouth poured a long, high note of anguish. Another cry joined his, and through the haze that had fallen in front of his eyes, Harry realized that it was Hermione's voice. He turned his head ever so slightly towards her, just in time to see as she came hurtling towards him. The leap that she had begun just before the spell started, which had been paused as the horror of what was happening had hit her, resumed.

Harry braced himself for impact, but instead if running into him, Hermione made to continue past him, towards were Ron stood still and screaming. Harry threw out an arm just as she passed him, and with seemingly no effort on his part was able to drag her back and into his chest.

For a while she beat on his chest and tried to stamp on his feet, desperate to get away from him and help Ron, but then Harry spoke, and she ceased her actions.

"Stop!" he cried, and the desperation was evident in his voice. "Hermione, if you've ever trusted me, just stop!"

She looked at him, and he removed his gaze and concentration from the scene before him to focus on her face. The conviction was all too clear in his eyes, and Hermione knew, instinctively, that she could trust him. She stopped struggling, and together they watched the spell as it did its mysterious work on Ron. She, still and tense with fear and trepidation. He, grim and determined, Ginny's words echoing in his mind.

_You're going to need to force Ron to feel regret._

Force. It had seemed a strange word for her to use, at the time. How was he to force Ron to regret his actions? He could appeal to his better nature, sure. He could describe his own remorse and he could explain in the plainest words just why Ron had to understand why what they had done was unforgivable. But he couldn't force him to feel regret. Not when he wasn't capable of comprehending the mind-numbing, terrible force of remorse that Harry and Hermione felt. Ron was a simple man, and his emotions were his own, not to be altered or changed with mere words.

But now Harry understood. As soon as the rage had grown within him as he beheld Ron, standing in the chamber of death, decrying him for feeling not strongly enough about Ginny, about Leo, and about revenge, he had known.

It was as Ginny said. There was a baser side to him. Animalistic. Animals were driven by instinct, and that was what guided Harry now, as the black force of the spell spewed in an uninterrupted flow from his wand. It was no spell he had ever studied. He had never read it, nor heard it uttered, but still it had risen from within him with the ease of long practice, no more difficult to call on than _expelliarmus_.

In it was his hate, his rage, his empathy and his longing for redemption. In it was the fabric of what drove him to hate his actions, to strive for a way back from darkness.

In it, was the essence of himself.

Finally it was done. The spell ended and Ron's scream petered out into nothingness, leaving in its place a deafening silence. Ron stood stock still for a while. His mouth was closed now, but his eyes were still wide, and tears now streamed from them. Slowly, he fell to his knees, his face registering nothing but numb shock. Before either Harry or Hermione could reach his side, he pitched forward and lay face down, still and unmoving.

Now, Hermione moved. She ran to the fallen boy's side, and managed to heave him onto his back. Ron's face was now chalk white, and his lips were moving feverishly in a frenzied chant of some kind, but no sound passed his lips.

When Harry reached them Hermione rounded on him, fire in her eyes. She may have trusted him far enough to let him do what he had, but she was scared by Ron's catatonic state, and she demanded an explanation.

Harry held up his hands as Hermione bombarded him with questions. In truth, he barely felt up to answering even the simplest of them. He was tired, and his gaze was haggard. Casting the spell had taken much out of him. Still, he did his best to explain.

"When I was unconscious." he began, "I was talking to Ginny, and I asked her whether or not the two of you would have to feel remorse as well, seeing as you were involved in what happened."

Hermione nodded, she knew this already, as Harry had said as much that day at her parent's.

Harry took a deep breath and continued, his voice ragged and dull. "She said yes, and she told me all that stuff about Ron being… not special. I didn't like hearing it, but I think, deep down, I knew it was true. She told me I would have to force Ron to feel the remorse that you and I did, that he wasn't capable of experiencing it otherwise."

At this point he stopped, looking up into Hermione curious scrutiny. "I didn't understand exactly what that meant, at the time. I figured that we would just have to explain why it was so wrong, to try and make him see why it was something we just had to try and put right. But it's not that simple.

"Ron's not an idiot, he knows perfectly well what we did was wrong; indefensible even. The problem is, he doesn't feel, in his heart, bad about what we did. Whether he did it directly or not, there's no denying that Leo was the catalyst for Ginny dying, and Ron… Ron can't accept that. He loved Ginny so incredibly deeply, too deeply to simply let her death go unpunished, no matter how wrong his actions might be.

"So we couldn't convince Ron to feel remorseful. We couldn't cajole him or appeal to his better nature. We had to do what Ginny said. We had to force him."

Hermione looked at him for a long while, digesting his words. She could see the truth in them, but she was still terribly confused.

"What was that, though? What did you do to him?" she asked.

Harry shook his head, averting his gaze. "I don't know."

"You don't know?" echoed Hermione, her voice tight with disbelief. "Harry, that was the most awe-inspiring piece of magic I've ever seen, how can you not know how you pulled it off?'

Harry shrugged, he was too tired to do anything more. His eyelids were heavy, and he wanted nothing more than to sleep. Then he returned his eyes to Hermione's, and the look on her face gave him the strength to continue, just a little longer. Just until she understood.

"Another thing Ginny told me, is that anything is possible with magic." He shook his head as Hermione made to interrupt him. "Don't Hermione." he said with a slightly rueful grin. "I've already debated the point with Ginny. The point is, anything is possible with magic, but wizards are fundamentally flawed in our understanding of it. What just happened, I can't explain. I did it because it felt right, because it came to me. I couldn't do it again for the life of me. I don't understand it, but still it was possible, and still I did it."

He stopped now, too fatigued to continue, and slumped to his knees. Hermione made to move to his side, but he waved her back. "I'm okay." he slurred. "Just a bit tired is all. Maybe we can just rest for a while?"

Hermione looked at him incredulously. "Harry, we're in the Ministry. The Department of Mysteries! We're in the goddamn death room! We can't just decide to take a snooze!" she exclaimed.

Harry smiled at her, reveling in the comfortingly normal display. "Stranger things have happened." he muttered. And with that, he rolled onto his side, out cold and snoring softly. Spell creation could wait. Saving Leo's soul could wait. Looking after Ron could wait.

Right now, Harry Potter wanted to sleep.

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**Hope this didn't let you down too badly. Just on a side note, I didn't get a single review for last chapter, which was a bit disheartening, as I really had no idea what any of you thought of it. Please take a little time to give me some feedback, because more than likely I'll take what you say on board.**

**-TR**


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